


Maple Syrup Candies, Tim Hortons' Coffee and an Obscene Amount of Penalty Minutes

by rosevest



Series: Tales From the Penalty Box [1]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canada, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/F, F/M, Français | French, Homophobia, M/M, Minor Violence, RPF, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:53:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 67,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7362238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosevest/pseuds/rosevest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’ll do what my dad said, be rivals, right? And then we’ll get so good that we can play in the NHL together!” Brendon babbled. “It’s perfect!”</p><p>The NHL: every Canadian boy's dream, and the achievable reality for Ryan Ross and Brendon Urie. But how will they get noticed by scouts if they can't stay out of the penalty box?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Shared Medal is Worth a Thousand Assists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a first glimpse at the results of 4 months of spiraling. happy canada day!  
> every chapter is paired with an iconic canadian song! this chapter's song is [Canada Day up Canada Way](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gkakojAZS08) By Stompin' Tom Connors. He one of the biggest canadian folk artists ever

“Okay but dude you should have seen them!” Brendon exclaimed, all toothless and beaming. “I was  _ way  _ better than like, all of them put together!”

The other boy scoffed, “No way. I’m better than you, but I’m not even that good.”

“You’re not better than me!” Brendon retorted, sniffing loudly to stop the snot that was leaking from his nostrils.

“Brendon, you were not better than all the guys on your brother’s team,” Ryan said. “I haven’t even seen them and I know that’s not true.”

“Maybe I am then! You don’t know anything,” Brendon pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ryan glanced at him, then away quickly, brow furled.

“Okay maybe you were better than like half of them,” he conceded.

Brendon grinned, and swung his legs contentedly, just barely missing his father’s knee with the blade of his skate.

“Brendon!” His dad snapped, and held his legs still. “Stop moving for two seconds, would you?”

“Sorry dad,” he said. As he waited for his father to tie the laces of his skates, his full concentration was on keeping his body perfectly still.

The two boys were sitting in a small change room, packed full of other players and their parents who were helping them to get their equipment on for the big game. With Ryan fully changed and Brendon needing just his skates, the two boys were almost ready to go on. The room reeked of sweat and success, the white brick walls telling a thousand stories of boys who had won and lost games, names scrawled across them in a fashion that could be deemed as vandalism, or an act of pride.

“Are you playing rep next year Brendon?” Ryan asked, breaking the silence between them.

“Yeah!” Brendon beamed. “I'm playing for the Hurricanes, just like all my brothers.”

“Oh,” Ryan frowned. “I'm playing for the Huskies.”

Brendon’s smile faltered, as he looked at his friend who seemed equally disappointed, “Oh. Well that’s kind of lame, we won’t get to play together anymore.”

Ryan looked down at his feet, “Yeah. I guess we’ll be like rivals then,” he said in monotone. The vibrant buzz and excitement of the final game seemed to have disappeared between the two of them, faded into a feeling of grey disappointment.

“Try not to look so down,” Brendon’s dad interrupted the two disappointed boys. “It’s your rival that really pushes you to get better. With such great opponents, you two will work way harder.”

“Yeah sure, Coach Boyd,” Ryan said and Brendon nodded along with him.

“I’m not kidding!” Brendon’s dad said. “You’ll work way harder to try to beat each other than any other players. It’s the extra competition that really helps you get better.”

“But we’ll only play each other a few times every year!” Brendon argued. “It won’t be the same.”

“Try to cheer up, boys,” Brendon’s dad finished tying his son’s skates and stood up. He ruffled Brendon’s hair, and received a glare in compensation. “It’s not the end of the world and we have a big game ahead of us. Last game of the season! We want to make it count.”

“Whatever you say, Coach,” was Ryan’s hollow reply.

Brendon’s dad left the two boys where they sat and walked over to converse with the other coaches. Brendon let his legs swing freely again and he watched them swing, back and forth, back and forth.

“We can still hang out, you know,” Brendon said. “My dad’s kinda right.”

Ryan nodded slowly.

“And well... Maybe we won’t be on the same team anymore but we can still help each other to get better,” Brendon said, unconvinced. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he exclaimed, “I’ve got it!”

“What?” Ryan asked.

“We’ll do what my dad said, be rivals, right? And then we’ll get so good that we can play in the NHL together!” Brendon babbled. “It’s perfect!”

Ryan smiled, “On the same team, right?”

“Obviously!” Brendon grinned back. He was excited again, happy for the game ahead. He knew that someday, he and his friend would play together in the NHL. On the Ottawa Senators, of course, no other team would do.

The horn buzzed in the arena, which meant the game before theirs had ended and the Zamboni was about to hit the ice. Ten minutes left until they would do the same.

“Score a goal for me, okay Ryro?” Brendon overheard Ryan's mother say.

“Just one?” Ryan returned smugly. His mother placed his helmet on his head and pressed a kiss to the top of it.

“My little superstar,” she breathed out, doing up the chin strap. Brendon noticed that she seemed slightly distracted, but didn’t think too much of it.

Brendon always wondered why it was always Ryan's mom in the dressing room with him, instead of his dad like all of the other boys. He didn't really question it too much though, he just allowed his father to do the same with his helmet. The cage of his helmet went over his eyes, and his already blurry vision now had a grid of metal across it.

The team was called to attention by a shrill whistle from Brendon’s father. In an instant, the noise level in the changeroom went from that of 15 excited seven year old boys to so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

“Alright boys, this is it, the last game of the season,” his father said. “I want you all to know that it’s been a pleasure coaching all of you. I’ve enjoyed having you all on my team and watching you grow as players.

“I hope you all continue to play hockey in the future, whether that’s in rep or house league hockey,” he said, glancing knowingly at his son, who blinked at him expectantly.

“We made it to the finals boys! Whether we win or not, that's still a big accomplishment. I still fully expect you to work your hardest. So let's go out there and win this thing!”

The boys whooped in excitement, their small voices a cacophony in the crowded room.

“Let's do the cheer!” the goalie blurted out.

The entire room erupted in a chorus of “We're red! We're white! We're dynamite! We got the power, the speed; we're the number one team! Go red!”

Once the cheering died down, Ryan tapped Brendon on the shoulder and smiled through his mouth guard “Remember the plan! You pass it to me when you have it and I'll pass it to you when I have it!”

“Every game dude! We're  _ so  _ gonna win this thing!” Brendon beamed back. He held out his glove to Ryan, who bumped it with his own, commencing their elaborate handshake that involved claps, snaps, fake punches, and a spin. They masterfully performed it, despite wearing all of their hockey equipment and the unnerving stares of fellow players and hockey parents.

The whistle blew again and Brendon’s father yelled out “Time to hit the ice boys!”

The clatter of skate guards being pulled off of their respective blades echoed through the small change room. One by one, the boys began grabbing their sticks off of the wall and leaving the change room. After a minuscule walk, they were on the ice. Brendon couldn't help but feel like he belonged there. Forget his house, home was where his skates and stick clipped and scraped against the ice.

They warmed up for the allowed three minutes, and then lined up for the faceoff. Ryan took centre and Brendon took the left wing. The whistle blew, and the puck dropped. Ryan won the faceoff, as he always did. Their first few shifts were very uneventful. No goals, no penalties, no injuries. There often weren’t in their games.

The buzzer sounded and the last shift of the game began. Brendon and Ryan’s line skated out to the faceoff one last time. The puck dropped, and Ryan won the faceoff once again. He passed the puck to Brendon on the left, who attempted to bring the puck forward. The player on the other team had him blocked and he deked around him. Unfortunately, his efforts failed and he went tumbling onto the ice. Possession of the puck was now with the other team, and they managed to bring the puck far enough to take a shot on the net. The goalie, Spencer, dropped to his knees and splayed his pads horizontally across the ice and stopped the puck, something Brendon had never seen another kid do. He tried to whistle at him but it came out weird and gargled through his mouthguard, which then fell out of his mouth. He chewed on the corner for a second, before skillfully using his tongue to get it back in.

The boys lined up for another faceoff, and Brendon couldn’t help but glance at the amount of time left on the clock. 1 minute and 23 seconds. The score was tied at zero. It was now or never. Ryan won the faceoff yet again. Brendon wasn’t sure he had ever seen Ryan lose a faceoff. The puck went to the right wing player, who successfully carried the puck up to their blue line, then passed it to Brendon. Brendon broke out and had a clear pathway to the opposing side, skating forward until he had a clear sightline of Ryan. He passed the puck to Ryan, who received the pass perfectly.

Ryan carried the puck forward slightly, preparing to take the shot. The defensemen were close on his tail and just as he took it, the blade of his skate caught on the ice and he went tumbling forward. Brendon hoped he wasn’t hurt.

Luckily the puck was already in motion, and it slid past the goalie, between the goalposts- the first and only goal scored during the game.

The buzzer sounded, but Brendon could barely hear it over his own excitement and shouts of joy. On his knees, he slid over to Ryan, who hadn’t even bothered to get up off the ice to celebrate. Brendon and Ryan sat on the ice together cheering and laughing as the rest of their team had surrounded the goalie, hugging him and patting his head.

When they calmed down, Ryan sat up and the two boys grinned despite their mouthguards. The rest of the players were already leaving the ice, and they stood up, still buzzed on their victory, and followed their team off.

As soon as they made it to the change room, Brendon’s helmet was off and his mouth was flying.

“That was amazing! First the save, and then Brent took it up with him, totally faking out that one player, and whoosh! The puck comes to me, and I get it closer, waiting for you to be ready and then everything’s happening so fast, the puck is with you, you take the shot and then trip and it’s all slow again, and I’m trying to get there to cover you in case it doesn’t go in, but it went in! We won!” He stopped to inhale loudly and Ryan laughed.

“Dude, that games was tough, I thought it was gonna end a tie,” Ryan said.

“Yeah well, it didn’t because of you!”

“And you,” Ryan reminded.

“Yeah! And now we get slushies!” Brendon gushed. Brendon always looked forward to his post-point-scoring slushie, as any Canadian boy between the ages of 5 and 12 did.

His father motioned for him to sit down and he complied, plopping down on the bench near his bag. His father unlaced his skates for him, all the while Brendon chattered on.

“I can’t believe we won! This is the best day of my life!” He exclaimed.

“You boys did a very good job today,” Brendon’s dad agreed.

The boys continued to excitedly talk about the game that had just ended while they pulled off equipment piece by piece. The room was filled with tiny triumphant voices laughing and bragging about how great they had been during the game.

Once the majority of the boys were changed, Brendon’s dad let out a shrill whistle.

“Okay boys, I want you to listen up! That was a great game you played out there today. You played your hardest and managed to pull through at the end,” he said. “We had a great season together and you boys really learned to work as a team. I know you’re all going to become great hockey players and I’m proud to be your coach.”

The players cheered, and the coaches along with them.

“Now we’ve got a couple of awards to give out to some outstanding players on the team. First, our MVP of the Game is Ryan Ross for his strong offensive playing and for scoring the winning goal of the season!”

They all cheered again and Ryan weaved through hockey bags and pieces of equipment that had been tossed to the ground to collect his medal. Coach Urie hung it around his neck him and shook his hand, and as Ryan turned around he smiled at Brendon.

Brendon’s dad was already announcing the next award as Ryan sat down, “And our most improved player of the year is out exceptional goalie, Spencer Smith!”

“Good job!” Brendon whispered to Ryan as all the people in the room cheered for Spencer. “You deserved it!” Brendon was really very happy for his friend; he knew he deserved the recognition he had just received. Brendon was going to win the sportsmanship award anyways. He could feel it in his bones.

“Thanks!” Ryan beamed. “I couldn’t have done it without you! You were the one who passed me the puck!”

A Jon Walker was called up to receive the sportsmanship award, and Brendon’s face fell. Ryan must have noticed and poked Brendon’s arm.

“Hey, you should have won something too,” he said and Brendon’s eyes started to fill up.

Ryan looked at Brendon in alarm, “No wait! Since you helped me get the goal it’s only fair that you get a medal too! So we can share mine!”

Brendon’s eyes widened, wiping the water that was just beginning to pool away, “Really? You mean it?”

“Yeah!” Ryan smiled as his tiny fingers fiddled with the ring connecting the medal to the ribbon it hung from. He pulled the medal off, then held out the red, white and blue striped ribbon for Brendon. Brendon’s eyes lit up as the ribbon transferred between their hands. Did Ryan really mean this?

“Dude! This is the best! You’re the best!” he beamed, then went to hug Ryan. The were of course, separated by several layers of padding, but it was still an appropriate gesture.

After, the two focused on getting their equipment off and out of the changeroom.

Ryan’s mom was waiting by the doors of the arena, and Ryan ran over to her, his hockey bag rolling along behind him. Brendon skipped behind him, the sounds of their tower bags rolling in sync.

“Mom look!” Brendon overheard him yell, watching him thrust the medal at her. “I’m the MVP!”

She smiled and took the medal from his hands, “I‘m proud of you.”

“Mom can I get a slushie?” Ryan asked and Brendon looked at his own father hopefully.

They relented and both the boys were given five dollar bills to buy large slushies. The two ran to get in line behind parents and their kids buying doughnuts, hot chocolate and coffee.

“Hey Ryan my birthday party is soon, you gotta come!” Brendon exclaimed. “I was gonna ask before but I forgot.”

“I need to ask my mom,” Ryan replied. “I hope I can go.”

“Me too!”

Brendon stepped up to the snack bar in front of Ryan and pushed his five dollars on to the counter, “One large slushie please.”

“Which flavour?” The lady working the snackbar asked.

“All of them!” he replied.

Ryan giggled, and pushed his own money on to the counter, “May I have a large blue slushie?”

The lady took their money and gave them change, then left to get their slushies. She came back with a fluorescent blue one and a brown-ish purple one.

“Thank you!” Brendon said and the boys took their slushies and returned back to their parents.

The two adults were deep in conversation when they returned and Brendon huddled close behind his dad. Ryan’s mom was distressed as she spoke.

“-and I’m not putting up with it any longer,” she hissed. “Either he goes, or I will.”

Ryan frowned and turned away from his mom to fiddle with the zippers on his hockey bag. Brendon sucked the sour-tasting drink through his straw as he stared at Ryan, who refused to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry you’re going through this, Danielle,” Brendon’s dad spoke softly. “Have you been talking about it at all?”

She let out a frustrated sigh, “I’m trying to but he’s never home. He’s not even trying anymore.”

Brendon’s dad tutted sympathetically and Brendon figured the conversation was over so he could butt in.

“Dad can Ryan come to my birthday party?” he asked, tugging at his father’s sleeve.

His father looked down and said, “Sure, I’ll email Ryan’s parents all the info.”

He turned back to Ryan’s mom, “If you ever need us to watch Ryan be sure to give us a call. Bren certainly won’t mind.”

Mrs Ross nodded graciously, “Thank you. Ryan and I should be going now. Come on, honey.”

Ryan looked at Brendon then quickly at his mom and nodded.

“Bye Ryan!” Brendon called as they walked away, but Ryan didn’t look back at him.

Two weeks later, at his birthday party, Brendon waited for hours but to his disappointment, Ryan never showed up.


	2. Go For the Helmet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the end notes for Canadian slang meanings and some hockey terms and lingo. A masterlist of hockey terminology and plays will be posted later this week!  
> this chapter's song is the [Hockey Night in Canada Theme Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ByKu8BwT5K4). during hockey season, this song is heard in the houses of all hockey fans, all across the country

The neon red glow of the clock read _20:00._ Adrenaline rushed through Ryan’s veins as he prepared for the first faceoff of the final period. His opposite centre wore a face of determination, but Ryan knew that he would win the faceoff. He always did.

The whistle blew, shattering the background noise mumbling through the arena. The puck fell out of the referee’s hand, and before it even landed on the ice, the arena was filled with the sound of hockey sticks hitting against one another and the skates of both boys scraping across the ice.

Ryan won the faceoff, the puck was now in Helena’s possession. Ryan skated forward, expecting to receive the pass, but he felt someone shove him out of the way. The arena was loud, but Ryan could pick out someone yelling “What the fuck ref!? That was clear interference!” and someone responding with "Hey, shut up faggot!" He glanced at who had pushed him out of the way, his blood boiled when his eyes registered the name _Urie_ with a gigantic “03” underneath it.

His recovery was quick, and the puck hit against his stick with a loud “thwack”. Ryan started to carry the puck up the ice, but Urie was back on him. With one strong body check, Ryan was down and his possession of the puck was completely lost. Ryan couldn’t take a check, and Urie knew that.

It took him a moment to regain his stance, and by that time, the whistle had blown again. Ryan laughed a little to himself when he realized Urie had iced the puck for literally no reason, like the dumbass he was.

Both teams quickly made line changes, and Ryan was now on the bench.

“Good play boys,” Coach Stump said reassuringly. Ryan knew that he wasn’t happy with his inability to receive a check, but he’d live. Everyone knew Ryan was the best player on the team, with the exception of Spencer. He was a goalie, they weren’t even comparable.

Ryan’s eyes wandered to the timekeeping box, where he recognized the smiling faces of Jon Walker and his girlfriend Cassie, the two regular timekeepers for his home games. They went to the same high school as Ryan, but he had never spoken to them outside of the arena. They were laughing and talking about something, barely paying attention to the game.

On the other side of the penalty box sat the other team and their coaches. The one coach was furiously telling off players on the bench. The coach looked familiar but Ryan didn’t give it further thought.

His attention turned back towards the game, as he watched his players and the Hurricanes’ grapple one another for the puck. Ryan’s team was much stronger than the other, and they kept the puck well away from their half and the net situated at the very end. Ryan’s lip twitched over his mouthguard as he watched their goalie, Spencer Smith, slide back and forth on his skates impatiently. But it was better to have a bored goalie than a busy one.

With the puck in the other team’s half, Ryan’s team performed another line change and Ryan prepared to go on at the next opportunity. The Hurricanes were losing badly now, nine to zero, and it seemed that despite changing up players again for the new season, they were still the goon team they had always been. It was just matter of time before the refs called another penalty.

The forward’s bench door opened, and Nick came off. Ryan bolted from his place on the bench and onto the ice, immediately chasing after the puck. Once it was in his possession, he carried it up the ice and towards the net. He faked out the goalie, and in a matter of seconds, the puck left his stick and ended up in the five-hole. The whistle blew and the referee pointed his hand stiffly at the net, indicating Ryan had scored. He let himself fall onto the ice and threw his stick up into the air, his signature celebration. As he caught his Sherwood, he overheard Urie grumble something under his breath, but chose to ignore it. It wouldn’t be worth it to pick a fight right now.

It wasn’t until hats started falling onto the ice that Ryan realized he had scored his third goal of the game. Despite the cold of the arena, Ryan felt some kind of rush of warmth and happiness grow in his stomach. The glowing red of the scoreboard now had a 10 under the word _Home_. This was where he was meant to be.

His excitement was short lived, the ref picked up all of the hats that had fallen on the ice and threw them back up into the stands, signaling that the players needed to line up for the next faceoff.

Ryan must have been thrown off by all of his excitement, as Weekes, the opposite centre, won the faceoff. What? Ryan never lost a faceoff. Never. Weekes somehow managed to make a breakaway and all Ryan could see of him was the huge 13 on his back. Ryan tried to catch up and protect the puck, but alas, his efforts were for none. Weekes had managed to score the first goal of the game for the Hurricanes; the Huskies no longer had a shutout.

The Hurricanes skated over to crowd Weekes, as if he’d scored the winning goal of the Stanley Cup final game rather than a pointless goal in a game they would lose anyway. They patted Weekes’ helmet with their gloves, and despite how much the Hurricanes were losing by, Ryan felt a hint of jealousy at the camaraderie of the team. He would never receive that kind of praise for any goal he scored, and he knew that.

That feeling dissipated as Urie skated over to him, his mouth guard dangling from his teeth and grinning viciously.

“Hey Ross!” he called, then his voice quieted. “Pretty fucking terrible face off you just had? God, your reaction time is awful.”

Ryan glared at him but said nothing.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!” Urie skated up closer to him, forcing all of Ryan’s attention to him. “You can’t recover from checks, can’t chase after players. You’re slow and you’ll never make it to the NHL.”

“Fuck off, Urie” Ryan replied coldly. “I don’t need to fight you today.”

“But you want to right?” the look in his eyes changed, from cocky and mean to downright maniacal.

“I said fuck off!” Ryan shoved him lightly and tried to skate away. Urie just followed him, continuing to throw insults.

“You know maybe if you were a better player, the rest of your team wouldn’t need to pull the slack all the time,” Urie chirped. “Or maybe they’re doing that cus your goalie can’t play and they gotta make sure the puck is never close to him.”

Ryan glanced briefly to Spencer just as Dan was giving his pads a probe with his stick, and then turned around and swung his fist at Urie.

He hit Urie in the chest knocking him backwards but Urie regained balance, dropped his stick and dove straight at Ryan’s chest, grabbing at his jersey. As Urie pushed him back, Ryan shook off his gloves and brought his bare hands down against Urie’s shoulders. Urie looped his arms around Ryan’s neck, trying to get him in a chokehold or just get his helmet off. Ryan ground his teeth against his mouthguard, thought of Spencer’s face when they would lose hockey games and switched from overhand punching, to underhand, aiming for Urie’s ribs and stomach.

Around them the referees were blowing whistles and from the corner of his eye Ryan could see two of them skating quickly towards them. He tried to shove Urie off of him but Urie held on tight. Urie let go from his hold on Ryan’s neck and punched Ryan in the abdomen. Ryan gasped slightly, but the adrenaline and padding for the most part masked the pain. He grabbed Urie’s shoulder and punched him again, unwilling to be let himself seem hesitant. Urie choked and redoubled his efforts as well.

Suddenly the referees were surrounding them, and Ryan was pulled off of Urie. But then Urie shoved the ref off of him and lunged back at Ryan, swinging his fists. He hit Ryan directly and finally knocked his helmet back. Rage rekindled, Ryan grabbed a hold of Urie again and they struggled together, Urie attempting to hit Ryan’s face and Ryan holding him away. Somewhere in the back of his head Ryan could a whistle still blowing, but it was muffled from the pulsing in his forehead.

Ryan managed to get the last punch before the referees wrenched them away from each other. The referee blocked Ryan from moving towards Urie.

“Stay back,” he said sternly as Ryan seethed in anger, skating back in forth to get around the ref.

The centre ref pointed at Ryan and then behind him to the exit and repeated the actions for Urie. While the game would continue for all of the other players, it was over for them.

Urie pulled off his helmet and his eyes never left Ryan as he skated to pick up his gloves and stick. Ryan held his gaze, picking up his own equipment and avoiding the knowing stares and quiet taunts of his teammates behind him.

The two skated off the ice, and as Ryan stepped onto the rubber floor he cursed quietly and stomped off to the change room.

After taking off his equipment, Ryan packed it up and slung the huge bag over his shoulder. He stuck his head out of the change room to see if Urie was in the hallway. As he wasn’t, Ryan exited the changeroom and made his way through the narrow halls into the lobby.

He found an empty silver bench, and sunk down into it, dropping his hockey bag off of his shoulder and onto the ground in front of him. He pulled his phone out of the media pocket of his salty grey Roots sweatpants, clicking it on. His lock screen displayed the usual photo of him and Spencer kissing a trophy from last year’s GTHL championships, but no notifications. He smiled to himself remembering how well they played that game, how much they really deserved that win.

Brendon emerged from the hallway as Ryan locked his phone and put it back into his pocket. There was so much tension in the room that Ryan’s chest felt heavy.

Brendon’s hair was wet, either he had just showered, or more likely, judging by the beads of sweat still falling from his hairline, he was sweaty. The bottom two buttons of his red flannel were undone, revealing a tiny triangle of peachy flesh between the fabric and his black ripped skinny jeans. How did he get those on after working up that much of a sweat? He ran his fingers through his thick black hair before taking a seat on the bench at the opposite end of the lobby. He looked far more mature than the last time Ryan had seen him, almost as though he was an entirely different person. That didn’t prevent Ryan from feeling disdain boiling in his stomach from the sight of him.

Ryan felt a vibration on his upper thigh, then pulled his phone back out, this time the messages logo flashed up on his screen, with the name Keltie Colleen underneath. He slid the notification to the right, and typed in his password, which was obviously two copies of Sidney Crosby’s number.

The newest message read _Where r u_ with a little red heart emoji. Ryan quickly typed back _Lobby_ , then locked his phone and placed it back in his pocket.

He stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and started walking in the direction of the snack bar. Hate boiled in his stomach as he passed Brendon, who was vigorously typing something, probably vague tweeting about what had just happened.

“Ryan! Did you get kicked out again?” the familiar, pretty blonde girl standing behind the counter laughed. Ryan could hear high-heeled boots clomping off in the distance.

“Very funny, Z. I did,” he replied.

“God, you have got to stop fighting with that Urie kid,” she giggled.

“It was his fault!” Ryan exclaimed.

“Sure, sure,” Z nodded sarcastically. “So, what can I get you today?”

Ryan suddenly felt thin hands on his shoulders, and a kiss pressed against his cheek. A waxy pink lipstick stain would definitely remain where her lips had just left. His bag fell off of his shoulder and landed on the ground with a loud thump.

“You played such a great game today, Ryan. I’m so proud of my future NHL-er,” Keltie smiled. Ryan could practically feel Z rolling her eyes.

“Thanks,” Ryan replied flatly.

“Oh, hey Z!” Keltie smiled. “Can I get a medium hot chocolate?”

“Yeah, of course,” she smiled back. “Ryan?”

“Large double-double,” Ryan replied.

“Ryan, its 9pm,” Z giggled.

Ryan just shrugged. It was still summer vacation, he didn’t need to go to bed early. Z tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear as she went to press a few buttons on the cash register.

“$3.75” Z said. Ryan fished two twoonies out of his pocket and handed them to her.

“Keep the change,” he smiled. Z nodded and smiled back, putting the twoonies into the cash register and then the leftover quarter into the brown coffee cup with a sticky note, reading “Tips” with a little smiley face, stuck onto it.

Ryan’s eyes followed as Z went to the coffee machine in the back left corner, but suddenly, hands were on his face, being pulled into a kiss. Keltie’s lips were soft and gentle, and it didn’t take long for Ryan to register and kiss her back. His hands made their way to the back of her neck, and soon after, his tongue coaxed her mouth open. Keltie’s gigantic white scarf was sort of getting in the way of things, but Ryan didn’t mind too much.

Z let out a little cough, and the two broke apart immediately, Keltie’s cheeks turning as pink as the lipstick Ryan was wiping off of his face.

“Here you go,” she pushed the two beverages further forward on the counter for the two of them to take.

Keltie and Z started talking, Ryan was glad that Keltie didn’t mind him being so close with another girl. While the two girls laughed over the latest gossip, Ryan felt eyes on him. He craned his neck around to see Brendon reading the gigantic letters, _ROOTS_ that were printed on the ass of Ryan’s sweats. Brendon quickly looked back down at his phone. Ryan didn’t think much of it.

As Ryan sipped on his coffee, he noticed a couple of his teammates emerging from the doors he had gone through prior. The game had ended. He didn’t bother asking any of his teammates if they had won the game, he already knew that they had. Besides, he wasn’t really that close with any of them.

“RyRo!” Tom exclaimed. “We won!” he held out his fist for Ryan to bump. Ryan humored him.

“No shit,” Ryan chuckled. “What was the final score?”

“12-2” Tom answered. “I scored one more, and Dan scored the other. Weekes got the second away goal.”

“Sick!” Ryan replied, before Tom went back to the group of their teammates that had already changed.

“Ryan, my mom just texted me, I gotta go home,” Keltie told him as she softly took his hand in hers.

“Okay,” Ryan responded. Keltie sighed and went on her toes to place a quick peck on Ryan’s lips. She didn’t look back as she walked away, the brown leather of her high heel boots clomping against the splotched silver and white floor tile. Her blonde hair flipped back against her tan knit sweater as she pushed the door open. Ryan wouldn’t miss her.

“When are you going to tell her?” Z asked.

“I dunno,” Ryan sighed.

“You’d better do it soon,” she informed him. “It’s not fair to her.”

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Ryan asked, noticing the line beginning to form.

“Oh, shit!” she exclaimed. She turned her attention away from Ryan and onto the line as she smiled “What can I get for you today?”

Ryan walked a few paces away, then leaned against the white brick walls as he wondered when Spencer would be out. He knew that goalies took a long time to change, but god, he just wanted to go home now.

The arena was always busy after a game, and it made Ryan very uncomfortable. There were people everywhere. It was loud and buzzing, and hard to pick out individuals. He took another sip from his coffee as he closed his eyes and let his head lean back against cold, hard brick, in hopes the feeling might just relieve the headache he seemed to have just contracted.

“RyRo!” his eyes jolted open as he heard Spencer’s familiar voice.

“Hey Spence,” Ryan smiled. Spence held his arm out and the two engaged in a traditional bro-to-bro sidehug. Ryan couldn’t help but notice that Spencer absolutely reeked, although he was in no place to judge, as he probably did too.

“Thanks for the quality entertainment there, you and Urie always manage to get into shit like that every game,” Spencer laughed, sweaty locks of chocolate brown hair falling over his blue eyes.

Ryan just laughed with him, not bothering to inform him that the reason he fought with Brendon in the first place was because Brendon insulted Spencer.

“Hey Ross!” Ryan heard Urie yell. He rolled his eyes, not wanting to pick another fight.

“Not today, Urie,” Ryan grumbled under his breath.

Urie had left his bag sitting on the floor near his seat and had approached Ryan and Spencer near the snack bar.

“I was just gonna congratulate you on your hattrick! What’s that like, the first one in years?” Brendon prodded. Ryan had actually scored one at the finals last year, but he didn’t bother telling Brendon that.

“Back off,” he warned.

“Ha, fine. Oh, Smith, by the way, nice job only letting two goals in! That’s like, a new minimum for you!” Brendon insulted Spencer.

Ryan’s hands held his coffee so tightly that the lid popped off, some of the liquid pouring over the rim and onto his fingers. He felt rage boiling up inside of him as he went to pick it up. He didn’t care when Brendon insulted him; it was expected, but to go after Spencer? That was low, even for Urie.

Spencer must’ve noticed that Ryan was fuming, because he tugged on the black sleeve of Ryan’s Huskies jacket and said “C’mon Ryan, my mom’s pulling the car up.”

“Okay,” Ryan replied, throwing his bag back over his shoulder and following the soft rolling sound of Spencer’s tower hockey bag away from his antagonist and towards the exit doors of the arena.

“Listen, Ryan, it’s one thing to fight on the ice, but another off ice. I swear to god, if you start another fight,” Spencer lectured.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Ryan responded. He’d already been given the speech countless times. “This is your future at stake, what OHL team is gonna want to take on someone with too many suspensions to count on two hands? Think about your future Ryan! You’ve been dreaming about this since Timbits!” Ryan mocked.

“Good to know you pay attention to what I say,” Spencer grumbled.

They stood in silence until Ryan caught a moonbeam in his eye reflecting off of Spencer’s mother’s silver mini-van. They walked closer to the doors, which made a whooshing sound as the two walked through them. The air was cold when they stepped outside the arena despite it being an August night, but then again, when wasn’t it cold in Canada? The parking lot was dimly lit, the night sky starless. Ryan and Spencer’s footsteps towards the trunk were the only sound besides the idling of the mini-van.

“How was the game, boys?” Spencer’s mom smiled as they placed their bags in the trunk.

“Fine,” Ryan answered softly.

Spencer began telling her every detail of the game as they closed the trunk and went into the back seats.

Ryan slumped down quietly, ignoring Spencer’s enthusiastic voice telling the tale of how their first exhibition game had resulted in an epic win. As the car began to drive away from the arena, Ryan couldn’t take his eyes away from the figures in the windows. That one, sitting on the ledge of the giant window by the door, in the red flannel shirt, was beginning to make Ryan’s home arena feel less and less like the place he wanted to be living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chirp: when players talk smack during a game  
> Double-double: coffee with a double serving of sugar and cream  
> GTHL: greater Toronto Hockey league  
> Hattrick: when a player scores three goals in one game, fans throw hats onto the ice  
> twoonie: two dollar coin,


	3. Revenge of the Gay Scare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've been lazy and haven't made the hockey masterlist yet. Definitions for Canadian slang are in the end notes for now!  
> This week's song is [The Toronto Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CF65H7j5Os) by the Albertan comedy act Three Dead Trolls in a Baggie

As Brendon watched Ryan and Spencer’s retreating backs he slumped over, the facade of arrogance and aggression dissipating from his body like steam. Most of his teammates were already in the lobby, but he didn’t approach any of them, instead choosing to return to the bench where he’d dropped his bag. He pulled out his phone from his back pocket but didn’t even look at it, rather using it for the false illusion of preoccupation as he waited for his father.

Dallon walked into the lobby and headed straight for Brendon. His hair was wet from the shower he always took after games, and he was wearing his Hurricane's jacket from the year before.

“Is my dad gonna be out soon?” Brendon asked quickly and Dallon frowned.

“I dunno, probably. I was the last one out,” he said. “Listen Brendon as I was leaving I heard-”

“Dallon, please,” Brendon said sharply. “It’s fine, I’ll hear about it on the drive home.”

Dallon looked away uncomfortably.

Brendon sighed and ran his hand back through his hair, “So I heard you scored another goal? Serves Smith right. Bastard didn’t deserve a shutout.”

“He seems like a nice guy,” Dallon offered.

“Yeah well, whatever,” Brendon snapped. “You don’t get to the NHL with attitude like that.”

Dallon nodded slowly, “Good thing I’m not going to the NHL. Your Dad tell you that?”

“He didn’t need to,” Brendon muttered, twiddling with his phone.

Dallon bit his lip and glanced toward his family motioning him over, “Listen Brendon, I gotta go now. But text me when you get home if you need to? Please?”

Brendon nodded and waved Dallon off. Dallon stood stiffly next to Brendon for a second, as if wanting to say something else, but then he shook his head and walked off, with one last look back at Brendon as he went.

Brendon turned his phone on again to check the time and sighed loudly. He just wanted to go home and shower, and then dick around on his phone for a couple of hours. He normally thrived in social situations but between his exhaustion from the game and the dread of the car ride home, he could think of nothing he would like more than to be alone.  
The lobby was busy, and Brendon hoped that he could disappear behind the curtain of the crowd, the cloak of all of the voices around him.

His father walked into the lobby followed by the rest of the coaching staff. His head coach, Pete Wentz saluted him and then left the arena cackling to himself. Brendon’s dad motioned him over, and Brendon slowly hoisted his hockey bag onto his back and trudged over.

“Can I get something from the snackbar?” he asked.

His father glared at him, “Do you have money?”

“I don’t have a job.”

“Well then there’s your answer,” his father replied. “Now let’s go.”

Brendon frowned and then followed his father out to their covered pickup truck. He opened the back and swung his hockey bag in.

The parking lot looked empty, probably because almost everyone was already home. Brendon looked out the window, the sky was starless. He hated the fact that light pollution remove the stars from the sky. He debated whether he wanted to sit up in the front with his father or to sit in the back. He wouldn’t be able to ignore him either way, but at least by sitting in the back it would be muffled.

Brendon wished his mom had been able to come to the game or even one of his siblings, but none of them had been able to. Sometimes if they were with him then his father would be less aggressive and loud.

He chose the front, better to face it and get it over with. The muffling wouldn’t change the impact.

They sat in silence as his father pulled the car out of the parking lot, but Brendon felt tense as he braced himself.

“So,” His father said slowly. “How did you feel about that game?”

“Fine up until I got kicked out,” Brendon said, crossing his arms over his chest. His leg started bouncing from habit and nerves, and he didn’t bother trying to stop it.

Brendon’s dad turned to look at him and raised his eyebrows. “Really? Well that makes one of us.”

“It’s just an exhibition game, Dad.”

“‘Just an exhibition game?’” his father asked in disbelief. “Every game counts. Every single one. This is draft year, Brendon. You can’t fool around any longer.”

“I’m not fooling around,” Brendon retorted.

“Oh yeah? How many times did you ice the puck today? Five?” his father snapped. “And how many times did you lose the puck because you didn’t pass? I can’t even remember the number is so high.”

“Nobody else on this stupid team can play, okay?” Brendon whined. “We would have lost possession anyway.”

“Obviously not because Dallon scored two goals today,” his father shook his head. “You’re not playing by yourself out there. You’re not good enough to.”

“You’ve told me before.”

“And you never listen! I’m trying to make you better. I know what it takes to make it as a professional hockey player and the way you play just doesn’t cut it.”

“I’m trying, isn’t that enough?” Brendon shot back.

“You call picking a fight with the other team’s centre ‘trying’? You call your two offsides ‘trying’? That’s not trying, that’s poor hockey playing,” his father’s voice was getting louder the more he talked and Brendon cringed. Brendon’s heart was in his stomach by now, he felt guilty. His father always had a way of making it seem as though everything that happened to the team was all Brendon’s fault.  


“He punched me first,” Brendon mumbled.

“After you provoked him! You always pick fights. You think that any team in the OHL is gonna want to take you if you keep picking fights and getting kicked out?” his father laughed bitterly. “Grow up. This isn’t house league hockey. You’re ruining your own future.”

It took everything Brendon had to stop tears from flooding down his cheeks. That was the last thing he wanted his father to see.

“Fine. Fine, I got it,” he said, forcing his voice to be steady. “Did I do anything right today?”

His father snorted, “Honestly, nothing I can think of.”

Brendon looked quickly away from his father as the hollow feeling in his stomach welled up through his chest, threatening to overwhelm him. He clenched his fists, and focused on stopping his leg from bouncing. He counted slowly to ten and then repeated it again and again, while his father droned on about poor plays he had made, poor decisions he had made and of course, poor decisions he had yet to make but his father was sure he was going to anyway.

It was only a ten minute drive from the Huskies home arena to his house, but it dragged on for eternity as Brendon watched the buildings fly by and tried to make his father’s criticisms as ineffective as one of Ross’s checks.

Ryan hadn’t played badly, not really. Brendon had been a little harsh. The guy had gotten a hat trick, after all, and he could win a faceoff like it was nobody’s business. He was the best player on the huskies, not that Brendon would say that outloud to him or anyone else.

It was unfair that Ross had everything: he was good looking, had a bombass girlfriend, got good grades, was the best player on his team, had a good team at all, when everything Brendon did was mediocre or subpar. He wanted to amount to something, but as long as there were assholes out there like Ryan Ross, with their natural talents and holier-than-thou attitudes then Brendon didn’t stand a chance. He was doomed to become another member of the nameless majority, forced to grovel in Ross’s dirt for the rest of his life. His father knew it and he was starting to believe it himself.

As they pulled into the driveway and into the garage, Brendon’s father finished his rant about Brendon’s terrible positioning throughout the entire game, and stared at his son knowingly.

“You’re just not working hard enough, son. You need to stop wasting your time on things like music and video games and social media,” he said sternly. “You have a big future ahead of you and it would be a shame for you the throw it away already.”

“Gee thanks Dad,” Brendon said sarcastically without thinking. His eyes bulged when he processed it. His father did not look impressed.

“I’m trying to give you the best possible future, and you’re talking back to me?” his father thundered. Brendon shook his head quickly and skipped around to the back of the truck to pull out his hockey bag.

With his father’s eyes burrowing into him, he carried his equipment inside and then downstairs. He made it to the bottom of the stairs before he dropped his bag to the ground and inhaled deeply the scent of dust and hockey equipment. With his father’s words still ringing through his head he pulled all of the sweaty equipment out of the bag and hung it up to dry out.

Upstairs he could hear his father clanking around in the kitchen. His mother was still out, but the kitchen was far enough away from the stairs that he could easily sneak upstairs to his room without his father confronting him again.

Once in the sanctity of his own room he stripped off his shirt and threw his phone on to his bed, the Senators phone case matching perfectly with his red cotton bedsheets. He walked over to the mirror hung on the back of his door and looked himself over. Already bruises were starting to form along his chest and shoulders from where Ross had hit him. He’d deserved it though, going after his best friend like that.

He checked the hallway for his father, and then went across the hall to the bathroom to take a shower. The sweat from the match was already beginning to dry, leaving his skin feeling sticky and gross, and his body reeking of testosterone and desperation, the distinct scent of a teenage boy who had given so much for so little.

He grabbed a towel from the linen closet and walked into the bathroom along the plush carpet. In the harsh light of the bathroom the bruises along his skin looked darker and uglier. He turned around to examine the bruises on his back and winced at the large mottled purple one at the base of his neck. That wasn’t going to be comfortable to sleep on.

He turned the faucet on and left it to warm up while he took off the rest of his clothes. Getting out of his jeans was difficult, but putting them on had been too so really it was his own fault if he struggled.

Once the water was heated to the right temperature he switched the water to the shower head and stepped it to wash off the grim and odeur of hockey. When he emerged, clean and refreshed, he toweled off his hair and then wrapped the towel around his waist. He picked his dirty clothes off the ground and with one last despairing glance at his bruised bespeckled body, he left the bathroom and crossed the hallway to his bedroom.

He closed the door and traded his towel for a pair of red plaid boxers, and discarded the towel on the floor. Brendon threw himself onto the bed, relaxing into the plush softness. He picked up his phone and noticed his hockey group chat was blowing up like it always did before and after a game. He thought about checking it, but the idea of weeding through the endless gay slurs directed at the other team, and directed at players who had performed badly was unbearable. It didn't matter what Dallon said, it was "all part of game" and "didn't really mean anything, you don't have to get so defensive." Sometimes it was too much for Brendon to deal with, especially when he'd spoken with his father.

He instead opened instagram and began to scroll through it. He allowed himself to laugh at a few memes, but he frowned quickly when he noticed that one of the people he was following had posted a picture of Ryan Ross. Just what he needed. To be reminded of the bastard in his own home.

Out of pure curiosity he would tell himself later, he clicked @ryro89 in the tags and pretended not to be happy that his account wasn’t privated. He began to absently scroll through it, and noted that Ross’s instagram was fairly nondescript and boring. He posted a bunch of pictures of him and his beautiful blonde girlfriend, though Brendon gleefully noticed how displeased he seemed in those shots. There was trouble in paradise it seemed.  
He posted lots of pictures of him with his hockey teammates, from tournaments and games and there were a few pictures of him and that goalie Spencer Smith goofing around.

Although they were few and far between, those pictures and some of Ryan’s terrible selfies showed a side of Ryan that Brendon barely remembered, the side of Ryan that would laugh and make jokes and who had been happy to go along with whatever stupid thing Brendon had thought of at the time. That was years ago. Brendon needed to forget.

A notification appeared at the top of his screen, indicating that Dallon had texted him. He allowed himself peace from Ryan Ross’s smiling face and opened the messaging app.

_Today 10:36 PM_

_Hey did you get home okay?_

Brendon frowned and texted back that he had. Weird that Dallon worried so much.

_What about your dad? Wanna talk?_

_nbd also can we talk about something else?_

Dallon was quick to respond. _Yeah sure, whatever you want._

Brendon debated asking the question and then flipped back to instagram, and scrolled through some more pictures on Ryan’s insta. There was a really nice one of him in Nathan Phillips Square, taken earlier that year when the snow was still on the ground. He was wearing his hockey skates, a grey duffle coat and a pair of roots sweatpants. He was smiling at whoever had taken the picture. There was this glow to the photo. Ryan looked almost angelic, locks of his long dark brown hair falling over his bright face. Brendon would never admit that, though. Brendon quickly closed instagram upon seeing it, took a shuddering breath and reopened his conversation with Dallon.

_ok you gotta promise not to tell anyone tho_

The reply came swiftly. _Of course. You can trust me._

Brendon took a deep breath. _ok so. how did u figure out u wanted to suck dick_

There wasn’t any indication that Dallon was typing anything and Brendon tutted impatiently. Finally:

_Wait lol what_

Brendon tsked at it and sent; _like as my token gay friend how did you figure out u were into guys? what were the signs_

He knew that Dallon might take long to respond so he opened instagram again. It was still open to Ryan’s profile so he continued to scroll, past more pictures of Ryan and Spencer, Ryan and his girlfriend, Ryan in a hockey uniform, terrible selfies and the occasional aesthetic post.

It took so long for Dallon to reply that Brendon started to see pictures of Ryan with another girl, with bleach blonde hair, sidebangs that hung in front of her eyes and ridiculous eyeliner. Somehow Ryan looked even more miserable in those pictures than he had in the ones with his current girlfriend and that filled Brendon with infinite glee. He had tagged her in a picture and Brendon laughed when he saw the name. So Ross has dated the rather infamous puck slut, Jac Vanek. That didn’t surprise Brendon at all.

Dallon had taken his sweet time responding and when the notification appeared at the top of his screen Brendon flicked the screen idly without thinking. And then he froze.

Underneath an ugly picture of Ryan and Jac kissing there was now a bright red heart. Brendon checked the date the picture had been posted and it was from 112 weeks ago. Mortified, Brendon sat up quickly and unliked the picture. He then closed instagram and threw his phone to the side. He stared at the ceiling, chest seizing in embarrassment and tried to lessen the feeling of wanting someone to break into his house and brutally murder him.

Dallon texted him again, and Brendon reluctantly picked up his phone and shifted back to the headboard of the bed.

_Okay so. This might not make a lot of sense. It started out as a feeling of isolation like i didn’t fully relate to people. And i liked hanging out and talking to girls but didn’t really ever think about them romantically you know? And then like, i started like really liking certain guys and wanting to hang around them all the time and they made me so happy and i dunno like more emotional and i was like weird... but then it clicked like, oh okay i might be like actually interested in these boys._

_Lol don’t really know if that was helpful but there it is_

Brendon considered this answer while attempting to block liking Ross’s post on instagram from his mind. He could relate to some of it, like the whole isolation thing, but all that emotional stuff was way out of his depth. He texted Dallon back.

_lol so i dont reeaaally get all that emotional shit but i think guys are kind of hot does that make me gay?_

He didn’t think so. He thought girls were really hot too, with their boobs and soft faces, but he felt he could appreciate a good ass on anyone, regardless of gender. So he wanted to fact check with Dallon.

_Well. Not necessarily. You could be bisexual or something_

Brendon stared intently at his phone and processed the word in front of him. He hadn’t really thought much of his sexuality of late, although this wouldn’t have been his first “gay scare” as he jokingly referred to his middle school sexuality crisis. But after today he felt a resurgence in the need to self-analyze his state of mind. And it was almost entirely Ryan Ross’s fault. Stupid puberty and acne death.

It wasn’t Brendon’s fault Ryan’s jaw had gotten more defined, and his brow more angular, and he had started working out more to prepare for drafting. It wasn’t Brendon’s fault he just happened to have noticed all of that when he’d walked into the lobby and seen Ryan without any hockey equipment on for the first time since before the vacation. And really how could he not have noticed that puberty might have been very kind to Ross after seeing him so often in the last few years?

He refocused on the text.

 _does bisexual mean you like guys and girls?_ He clarified.

Dallon answered a quick affirmative. Hmm. Bisexual. He could live with that.

_ok cool thanks i guess_

Dallon sent him a smiley accompanied by a short message: _If you have any more questions feel free to ask me! I know this stuff can be hard and the other guys certainly don't make it any easier. I’ll try to help in any way i can!_

Brendon brought his legs up to his chest, and frowned uncomfortably.

_yah sure. anyway goodnight._

_Goodnight brendon!_

After Dallon sent the last text Brendon went back through them and deleted any of the potentially incriminating ones. Occasionally his parents would read through his texts, and he would rather not risk them finding out anything he and Dallon had talked about. He got enough of their disapproval, he didn’t need any more of it.

After closing the messaging app, Brendon was instantly reminded of liking Ryan’s picture from two years ago and it was with the feeling of intense shame that Brendon switched off his lights and climbed into bed. Luckily for him, Ryan never checked his notifications and was not the least bit worried about Brendon Urie liking a picture of him and his ex-girlfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHL- Ontario Hockey League. The gateway for most boys to get NHL drafted.


	4. I Wanna Know What Love is but not from You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a bit late! long road trips and plane rides don't make for easy posting  
> this chapter's song is [canada in my pocket](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VnZlAOSEmYQ) by micheal mitchells. it's a cute little song you learn in school to learn about canadian currency!

The smell of chalk, slate and dust felt like the whole world was new. Ryan stepped into his homeroom class, English. The desks were paired, and the white walls of the classroom were empty, aching with promise. The clock was broken, but Ryan already knew he was early as the first bell had just rung. The first day meant first impressions, and Ryan knew that could make or break him.

Sitting on top of the teacher’s desk was Mr. Beckett, his brown slacks clashing with the silver of the desk. His light brown locks cascaded over his shoulders and onto his sky blue button up shirt. His sleeves were rolled up past his bony elbows, revealing cherry-tinted skin that had obviously been sunburned over the summer.

“Ryan? You’re here awfully early” Mr. Beckett said, closing the ancient copy of _The Great Gatsby_ that was in his hands. Ryan noticed a thick golden band around his ring finger. He didn't know that Mr. Beckett was even dating someone, let alone married. Ryan wondered who was lucky enough to be Mrs. Beckett.

“Yeah, I figured I’d get set up early,” Ryan smiled blankly at him. He noticed little slips of paper with beautifully handwritten names scripted across them. Great. A seating arrangement. He knew that Spencer was in his class, and as their last names were fairly close alphabetically he was hopeful that they would be beside one another. Ryan wandered the classroom for a moment, before finding “Ryan Ross” written in perfect script on a crisp white piece of paper in the second row from the back, on the far right of the classroom. The desk beside him had Spencer's name on it, quite literally. He smiled knowing that he and his best friend would be sitting beside one another, which also meant they'd have lockers beside one another. Already this year seemed like it would be a good one.

He slung his brown leather satchel off of his shoulder, his black biker jacket making the signature sound of leather crinkling. He opened up his bag and pulled out a red binder, slapping it down onto his desk, and then returning to retrieve a black pencil case, as well as a coil bound notebook with a classic navy blue cover. He pulled out his phone, and on the lockscreen was a message notification from Keltie. He unlocked his phone to reveal _where r u? Didn't see u this morning_ with a sad face emoji and a pink sparkly heart. He debated ignoring it, but then remember he had his read receipts on. He typed up _I'm just in class_ , but then realized that sounded totally lame so deleted it and wrote _Running late_. Much better. He put the phone back into the front pocket of his black jeans and sat back in his chair.

“Ryan, since you're here early, there's something I wanted to talk to you about,” Mr. Beckett suggested.

“Sure,” Ryan replied, checking the clock on his phone and realizing they still had 7 minutes before class started. He stood up from his seat, the plastic chair scraping across the floor. He walked up to Mr. Beckett’s desk and asked “What is it?”

“Mr. Saporta and I wanted to ensure you planned on playing Varsity hockey again this year,” he quirked an eyebrow.

“Obviously. I've been on the team since grade 9, why wouldn't I?” Ryan asked.

“Oh. Mr. Saporta just told me that- well, that you might not be playing this year,” Mr. Beckett replied.

“What would give him that idea?” Ryan asked. He was also confused as to why Mr. Beckett and Mr. Saporta had been talking over the summer. They had probably just been planning the school hockey season for the next year, deciding who had proven themselves enough in juniors, who hadn't done well enough last year to continue playing hockey.

“Something about the OHL? I think he said something about you declining to be drafted or something,” Mr. Beckett explained, looking slightly confused.

Ryan had declined to be a part of last year's draft, purely because relocation would not have been an option for him at the time. He would not be quitting hockey, no, that was not an option, and he would be drafted again this year. He knew that.

“Oh, yeah.” Ryan said. “Yeah, that was a mistake. But I will be playing this year, I can assure you.”

“Great! That’s all I needed to know,” Mr. Beckett smiled, then his soft brown gaze returned back to the book in his hands. Ryan returned to his seat, and almost on cue, the music started playing on the announcements. He instantly recognized the melodious synth chords and subtle drumbeat of “I Want to Know What Love Is” and scowled to himself. Lou Gramm’s gospel inspired vocals began, and somehow the song became worse. With luck, the bell would ring before the song ever made it to the chorus. Who was doing the announcements this year? And what did they have against him?

Students began filing through the doors, the disgusting song being drowned out by the mumbling voices of teenagers catching up on what had happened over the summer.

Urie walked in and the chorus of the song blared, embarrassing lyrics, tune and human character fitting together as if planned. His white vans squeaked against the aged wooden floors, an equally distasteful addition to the terrible song. His dark blue shirt was long sleeved and draping over his thin body. He walked towards the back of the classroom, then frowned when he realized that there was a seating arrangement. Wait. There was a seating arrangement. It was alphabetical. R, s, t-

“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” Ryan heard Urie mutter, before pulling out the chair behind him, and dropping his obnoxious navy blue Herschel beside him. You had to be a pretty big fuckboy to wear one of those. Ryan's fists subconsciously clenched. A year in front of Urie. Great.

Spencer walked in the classroom, aimlessly fiddling with the zipper on his black and blue huskies jacket. Ryan realized he would probably be the only team member who wasn't wearing that obnoxious jacket today, but couldn’t bring himself to care about his lack of team spirit.

Ryan smiled at Spencer and gestured for him to come over. Spencer had a bounce in his step as he walked towards him, a grin on his face. He approached the right hand side of the pair of desks, and took his place beside Ryan.

“RyRo!” Spencer grinned, extending his fist for Ryan to bump.

“Spence!” Ryan responded, obliging and tapping his knuckles against Spencer's.

The announcements blared out one final _I wanna know what love is,_ then the final bell rang.

“Gooood morning ECI and welcome to the new school year! Please rise for the playing of O Canada,” an unfamiliar voice said on the announcements.

The room filled with an uncomfortable sound of metal chair legs scratching against wood and quiet stepping to gain balance on two feet.

Spencer leaned over to Ryan and whispered “Is Walker doing the announcements this year?”

Ryan shrugged. He didn't know who Walker was.

The national anthem began to play after a few moments of silence. Behind him, Ryan could hear Urie humming along in perfect key to the tune. So Urie was _that_ kid. It was good to know.

After the song came to a halt, everyone took their seats again. The announcements droned on in the background, but no one ever really paid them any attention anyways.

“So, how was your summer?” Spencer asked, his voice full of enthusiasm.

“Good, when I wasn't hanging out with you I was with Keltie,” he replied. Hanging out with Keltie wasn't really good, but whatever.

“Oh right, you and Keltie! You guys have been together for what, like, a year now? How's that going...” Spencer’s voice trailed a little as he went into his backpack to grab his school supplies.

“Good,” Ryan lied. In all honesty, the sooner they broke up, the better.

“That's great man! Good for you!” Spencer smiled, placing his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan caught Urie angrily scrolling through his cell phone in the corner of his vision.

“And that's the announcements for today ECI, have yourselves a welcome back Wednesday!” the enthusiastic voice announced.

“Good morning students,” Mr. Beckett said. “I know most of you already, but I'm Mr. Beckett. I'll be your English teacher this year.”

He began walking through the classroom, placing stapled packages of paper on the desks of each student. When one thwapped down on Ryan’s desk, he immediately knew exactly what it was.

_“Course Outline and Forms”_ the title read. Mr. Beckett seemed like a good homeroom teacher, keeping everything together. Most teachers would just hand out a pile of individual papers.

He returned to his rolly chair, probably putting in the attendance. The only good thing about seating plans was that the attendance didn’t have to be taken. The teacher would already know.

There was a knock on the door, and a girl with brown hair on the opposite end of the classroom stood to answer it.

The door opened to reveal Jon, the timekeeper for the Huskies.

“Uh, hi, sorry I’m late, this’ll be an everyday thing. I’m doing the announcements this year,” he said, and it was the same voice that had been on the announcements minutes before.

“Find your seat,” Mr. Beckett replied. There was only one empty desk in the classroom, it was behind Spencer, beside Urie.

His eyes seemed to light up when he saw Spencer in front of him. Ryan knew that Spencer was the type to always thank the timekeepers after the game, so Jon had reason to be happy that he was in Spencer’s presence.

“Okay, I know you’re all going to ignore me if I go through the curriculum anyways, so I’ll just give all of you your locker assignments,” Mr. Beckett announced over the quiet lull of people whispering.

He went down the attendance list, announcing names and numbers.

“Ryan Ross, 257”

“Spencer Smith, 258”

“Brendon Urie, 259”

“Jonathan Walker, 260”

And then the list was finished.

The class all scrambled out the door and to their lockers. Ryan found his and just placed his blue combination lock through the loop, locking it with a click, thin fingers turning the dial to 0. Spencer, beside him, was pulling out a calendar, notebooks, magnets, the whole five yards. He was an organized student, worked hard for his grades. Ryan’s gaze went past Spencer and to Urie, who was already tossing the package of paper he had just received into his locker. He was so disorganized, Ryan hated it.

“Listen you two,” Spencer spoke up. “I’m stuck with a locker between you, so you’d better not fucking fight at school.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” Urie snarled, slamming his locker door shut, then placing a red combination lock through the loop, locking it, and storming back to class.

“Ryan, liste-” Spencer started.

“I know, Spence. I’m not gonna fight him,” Ryan cut him off.

“Are you and Brendon finally gonna make amends?” Jon asked optimistically. Spencer and Ryan both burst into hysterical laughter.

“Me and Urie? On good terms? That’s cute, Jon, really cute,” Ryan chuckled, before he and Spencer started making their way back into the classroom.

“Hey guys! Wait up!” Jon called out, and Ryan heard the clanking of a combination lock against the cold metal of the empty locker. Ryan continued walking in the direction of their classroom. He felt Spencer’s hand on his shoulder, and he stopped in his path.

“Hey, wait for him,” Spencer suggested softly. Jon caught up to the pair, and walked back into the classroom with them. They found their way back to their seats, and Ryan realized that there was only 10 minutes left in the class. The chances of them getting anything done was next to nothing.

“Spencer, how was your summer?” Jon smiled. Spencer turned his chair around and started telling Jon about absolutely everything he had done over his summer. Ryan rolled his eyes and pulled his phone out of his pocket. 6 new notifications from Keltie. God, did she know how to lay off?

_Oh, hope u get to class on time!_ Followed by a purple heart. Ryan was getting tired of the constant hearts. He’d stopped sending them months ago, couldn’t she take a hint?

_Miss u_ and another one of those god-awful hearts. You shouldn’t need caricature hearts to ensure someone knows you care. The should be within the words you say, Ryan thought. Not some half-assed addition of tiny cartoons into meaningless messages.

_Ur eating w me at lunch right?_

_Ryab?_

_*ryan_

_?????????_

Ryan decided to leave her on read. He was in absolutely no mood to talk to Keltie right now. Just for a moment, he contemplated turning around and starting conversation with Urie. Wait, what was he thinking? He shook the thought from his mind very quickly, and realized he would rather sit in silence and pretend to be preoccupied on his phone.  
“Ryan, right?” Jon interrupted Ryan’s lack of activity.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“That was a sick hat trick the other night! Like, holy shit man, you’re going pro for sure!” Jon smiled enthusiastically. Jon seemed to have this positivity that radiated around him, but Ryan wasn’t sure how he felt about him yet.

“Thanks, I know,” Ryan responded, then realized just how stuck up he sounded. Ryan didn’t really let it get to him, his whole hockey team held an aura of condescension and superiority. They had the right to, they’d won the GTHL championships 5 years straight.

“Ross? Going pro? Cute. That’ll happen the day he actually learns how to play contact hockey,” Urie laughed sarcastically.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Urie,” Ryan rolled his eyes.

“Hey! Boys, be nice,” Mr. Beckett called out from the front of the classroom. Ryan had honestly forgotten he was there, considering the fact that the classroom was still basically empty, students still chattering in the hallways about their summer or organizing their school supplies.

Ryan then ignored Urie, in favour of speaking with Spencer and Jon. They mostly just chatted about their summers, and compared schedules. Jon and Spencer were in the same politics and world issues classes, Ryan and Jon shared American history. Jon cracked a joke about how he’d definitely be getting the best mark in that class, because he was born in Boston. Ryan already knew, but Spencer was in his gym and math classes as well. Urie didn’t weigh in on anything.

The shrill electronic ding of the bell caused the entire class to submit to a miniature chaos, and Ryan stayed in the same classroom for creative writing as everyone else seemed to evaporate around him.

He was happy in that class as there was no seating arrangement. Mr. Beckett had said something about ensuring that everyone had the greatest creative potential. Hippie bullshit, as far as Ryan was concerned, but Z was in that class with him, thus, he was thankful. Instead of paying attention to all of the regular administrative first day of school programming, the two of them drowned out all of the background noise with each other’s mellifluous laughter. Ryan enjoyed Z’s company, and he probably trusted her more than anyone else he knew, even Spencer. Z kept switching to French, trying to get Ryan to speak about that he dared not, but to no avail. Ryan was an iron padlock. Ryan left the class in a very good mood regardless, feeling as though the heavy air of the school had just turned into that of an ocean breeze.

American history was with Mr. Saporta, every student’s favourite teacher. Ryan sat with Jon, since he wasn’t very fond of anyone else in that classroom. Plus, Jon had asked, and Ryan didn’t have the heart to say no. He attempted to get to know Jon through the class, since Mr. Saporta had decided to leave the classroom alone for some unknown reason. He claimed it was to make photocopies, but when he walked back into the classroom, there wasn’t a trace of paper. No one really questioned Mr. Saporta, he did suspicious shit all of the time.

After the class, Mr. Saporta asked Ryan to speak with him, but accidentally spilled his Tim Hortons coffee all over his obnoxiously bright polo shirt and cliche khakis, and Ryan was set free. He couldn’t seem to escape the grasp of Keltie after class though, unfortunately.

“How the fuck could you leave me on read!?” Keltie yelled. She must have had a history class that period too and had been nearby. Not that Ryan really cared all that much.

“I forgot to reply, Keltie,” Ryan lied, voice surprisingly even.

“Yeah, sure, likely story,” she said through gritted teeth, before spinning around and walking in the opposite direction from Ryan, the angry stomping of Keltie’s feet drowned out by freshmen scrambling to ensure they wouldn’t be late for whatever mediocre prerequisite they had next. Ryan watched her golden blonde curls bobbing up and down as she walked, then realized that he was about to be late for math class.

When he walked in, he noticed Spencer had saved him a seat, and he smiled. After receiving a curriculum outline, Ryan was deeply regretting choosing university math. He and Spencer would probably have to take time after school often to catch up on content. They were given a grade 10 review to attempt, when they took it up, Ryan was extremely disappointed that he had only scored a 15/20. Thank god that didn’t actually count for marks.

Lunch used to be the only good time of school for Ryan, but now he preferred spending his time in class. He took a seat next to Spencer at the regular Huskies table, the one on the far right of the back of the cafeteria. He was the only one there who wasn’t in the classic Huskies outfit, the team jacket with a pair of black trackpants on the bottom. Ryan thought it was elitist and stupid, he didn’t feel the need to conform to the rest of his team’s standards. Besides, he was one of the more fashion forward students at his school, he took pride in that.

His dad gave him $5 for lunch every day, but the majority of the time, he didn’t bother eating lunch and pocketed the cash so that he could afford other expenses that he had. Most kids at the school did the same thing.

Keltie slid in beside him and gave him an ugly look, then smiled and started talking and flirting with Ryan’s teammates. He knew he had to act as though everything was okay. There could never appear to be trouble in paradise. They were the perfect couple, the pretty blonde cheerleader and the hockey jock, the kind of relationship every single Canadian wishes they could be in. He put his arm around her, a false illusion of a happy couple.

Ryan scanned the cafeteria, noticing Brendon sitting with the few Hurricanes that went to ECI, as well as some of the church kids. He looked a little miserable, in all honesty. Good. Off to the side Jon was sitting with his girlfriend, and the two were smiling and laughing together. Ryan was a little bit jealous, although, in his ideal life, perhaps, there wouldn’t be a girl in the picture.

Ryan began to feel his head pounding, the cafeteria was too loud, and his day had been stressful.

Ryan should be happy with his hockey team. There was no reason to be unhappy, everyone loved him, he was the centre of attention. They were great guys, but he didn’t want to be there. He was a walking trope, the cliche “alone in a crowded room”. He hated it.

“RyRo, I hear you’re up for varsity captain this year!” one of his teammates announced. He received several pats on the back, both literal and metaphorical. Ryan wasn’t surprised, he’d been on the varsity team since the ninth grade. Usually they chose a senior, but Ryan seemed the obvious choice.

“Wait, really?” Ryan asked, trying to display some kind of false modesty.

“Aw, don’t be so modest Ryan! You’re the obvious choice,” Keltie smiled, then pulled him in for a kiss. Ryan hated PDA. Keltie knew that, and yet, there they were. He kissed her back anyways, even though he knew he would probably pay for it later.

After they pulled away, Ryan made some excuse about having to go to the bathroom, and everyone bought it. His body escaped the grips of a clingy girlfriend, then he walked to the nearest washroom. Nobody was inside so he pulled out his phone and pulled up the school’s phone number. He masked his voice with a thick Quebecois accent to sound like his father’s once he arrived in the tiled room.

“My son, Ryan Ross, will be spending the rest of the day at home. He’s sick,” his voice echoed, reminding him of how ashamed he should be for lying like this, but it wasn’t like his father would care, it wasn’t like anyone would find out.

He got away with it, no doubt, and as he walked away from the suffocating red brick walls, his headache dissolved.


	5. How to Get Your Best Friend Suspended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so hey guys! new chapter out on time this week. and on top of that we finished up the masterlist of hockey terminology so be sure to [check that out](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7615111)!!  
> this chapter has a bit of a somber tone so this weeks song is [acadian driftwood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=te7KW4K-00E) by the band (a band which was covered by panic before they broke up). acadian driftwood is about the deportation of the acadians from new brunswick, nova scotia and prince edward island

Soft lips on his, sweet, but never any sort of spark. Electricity was non-existent. The woman underneath him was his lover, but he could never love her. A thin layer of clothing separated the friction between them, however, Ryan had no intention of allowing that barrier, that excuse to cease its existence. He couldn’t find a reason to be happy in this moment, although any other teenage boy in their right mind probably would be. But then again, since when was Ryan in his right mind?

She smelled like a mixture of jasmine and vanilla, soft and succulent. When Ryan’s hands entangled in her silky hair, she let out tiny sounds. Ryan reminded her that they were alone, she didn’t have to bite her tongue. 

The mattress dipped beneath them, the sounds of springs squeaking filling their ears. Her lips moved down from his mouth, and found their way to his neck. He feared that this would be her opportunity to finally suck the life out of him, like the vampire that she was. 

Her hands were trembling as they fumbled across Ryan’s bony spine. As her hands neared his waist, he moved up into a sitting position, as to discourage her from pushing any further, but her body arched up, mirroring his position, lips never breaking contact with his skin. 

Her mouth found its way back up on his, and Ryan still felt nothing. Perhaps his heart was empty, perhaps he wasn’t capable of feeling. Her hands found their way onto his chest, perhaps attempting to feel the ghost of a heartbeat that once was. They moved their way down, thin fingers against a muscular stomach. Finally, they found their way to his belt buckle, attempting to remove the metal piece from the missing hole of the black leather. 

Ryan’s eyes popped open, and he pulled back from her as quickly as he possibly could, jumping back to the footboard of his bed, his body no longer in contact with hers, his heart pounding, but not for the reasons one’s heart should be pounding when in bed with a pretty girl. 

“N-not yet,” Ryan stuttered, unsure of what else he could say. He could feel his heart attempting to crack his ribcage. He went to do his belt back up, but luckily, Keltie had been unsuccessful in her attempts. 

“Are you fucking kidding me Ross!?” Keltie’s face switched from an expression of love to pure anger. Ryan knew this was a bad idea. He shouldn’t have told her his dad wasn’t home, he shouldn’t have let her lips find his. He should’ve ended it before she even had the opportunity to kick her shoes off at his front door.

Ryan just sat, eyes wide, and breathing heavy, words refusing to fall out of his mouth. The silence between the two of them was a ticking time bomb.

“George Ryan Ross! We’ve been together for what? A fucking year? All I can get out of you is a fucking bogus makeout session! You know, you should be lucky to have me! Most guys would fucking die for an opportunity to sleep with me, and what are you doing? You’re fucking rejecting me! I’ve been patient! I’ve waited! And you know what? I feel like you just don’t want me anymore!” she screamed, opalescent tears streaming down her pale face. Bang. The time bomb had exploded. 

“Keltie,” Ryan started.

“Oh no, don’t you fucking ‘Keltie’ me with your puppy dog eyes and your fucking sad voice. I’m sick of it! I don’t ask for much out of you, Ryan! All I want is for you to treat me like a regular girlfriend! Is that so much to fucking ask? You know what? I’ve wasted a whole fucking year of my life trying to get you to care about me as much as I care about you! And for what? You won’t even kiss me back half of the time anymore!” she continued, her eyes once filled with love, now filled with saltwater and a look of pure rage. 

Ryan felt trapped, his back pressed up against the cold wood of the footboard of his bed. He was appalled that Keltie had all of that anger bottled up inside of her, that Ryan had shaken it until it had exploded. Now the contents lay in front of them. Ryan had no clue what he was doing, where to go from there. He had no game plan, so now, it would be an in the moment decision. He hadn’t anticipated this. 

“Are you gonna fucking say something?” Keltie asked, still looking angrier than Coach Stump had been when they lost the first game in the championship round last year.

“I was afraid you’d cut me off,” Ryan sighed. 

That was obviously the wrong answer because tears continued to flow down Keltie’s soft cheeks, heavier than they had before. Her black eye makeup fell down her face, beginning to form little patterns around her cheeks. It reminded Ryan somewhat of spiderwebs. 

“Hey, hey, don’t cry. It’s okay. I still want you,” he lied, reaching out and attempting to wipe tears from her eyes.

“Why don’t you ever show it, then?” she sniffed, knocking away his hand and using her own to remove the trail of tears that Ryan has caused. 

Ryan paused for a moment. If he wanted to continue the facade, he had no choice of what to do. His hands cupped her face, and his lips came crashing onto hers, and he immediately regretted his decision as she began to kiss him back. She wasn’t lying when she said she loved Ryan, and he knew it. He, unfortunately, wouldn’t be able to share the same sincerity. 

She tasted like saltwater, and Ryan was all too familiar with the feeling. Her hands were still shaky from crying moments ago, and yet, still strong enough to squeeze Ryan’s shoulders and pull him back on top of her. 

Her breasts were soft against his chest, Ryan could feel her heartbeat. Her hands ventured up his shirt. She broke contact with his lips to discard the white and black striped fabric onto the grey carpet of his bedroom floor. Ryan’s naked skin was pressed against the soft knit of Keltie’s pink sweater. 

Their eyes were locked in the momentary break of mouth to mouth contact. Keltie whispered a soft “I love you,” but Ryan didn’t say it back. 

Ryan had passed the point of no return, and forced himself to live with the idea that he had no other choice. Keltie was his only option anymore. 

His hands went under her shirt, the skin on her stomach was smooth. Ryan made a mental note of the texture for reference in writing later on. 

He continued up, awkwardly attempting to cup her breasts with her bra separating rough flesh from soft. Keltie laughed against his lips, obviously amused as she moved her hands off of his shoulders, and utilized them to guide Ryan’s boney fingers along the rib-band of the garment, all of the way to the back where the eyelet and hook met. Ryan shuddered at the thought of him and Keltie in the same position as the two pieces of metal, perfectly attached. 

He fumbled with it, unsure exactly how it worked. Keltie attempted to be helpful, arching her back  as to give Ryan a better angle, but to no avail. Ryan didn’t understand why it was necessary to create this pointless and difficult to unlatch device. 

In that moment, he saw a chance for escape. He pulled off of her and sat up. 

“I can’t,” Ryan whispered, wiping saliva off of his swollen lips. Keltie scrambled up into a sitting position, frantic to ensure that she would keep him reeled in, even if just for tonight. 

“Here! I’ll do it for you! Don’t worry! It’s all good! It’s okay!” she stammered out, before twisting her body to unhook the garment Ryan had struggled so much with. She skilfully pulled it out through one of her sleeves, the piece of lingerie covered in white lace and a few small rhinestones. Ryan didn’t really care that there was a girl on his bed prepared to give everything for him, but was rather curious as to how she had managed to pull off a stunt like that. 

She pulled her sweater off over her hear, the pink chunky knit falling next to Ryan’s discarded t-shirt. Ryan had never seen her shirtless before, and honestly? He was far more impressed than he expected to be. 

“There! Problem solved!” And she went back in to kiss him, but Ryan’s hands pushed her away.

“No, I can’t do- I can’t do this,” he breathed, motioning towards the clothing beginning to pile up on the bedroom floor. 

“Is this- is this your first time?” Keltie asked carefully. Was that why she thought he was so reluctant? Oh.

“Ye- I mean, that’s not the problem here!” Ryan almost admitted. 

“Unbelievable! What the fuck is your issue!?” Keltie screamed again. Ryan had a little trouble taking her seriously, considering that she was kind of exposed. Very exposed. He almost had to stop himself from laughing, because her breasts bounced as she yelled. 

“I-” Ryan started, but couldn’t seem to find the rest of the words in his mouth. 

“Spit it out Ryan! Or I’m leaving and never coming back!” she yelled at him, her eyes beginning to fill up once again. Ryan felt afraid of what he knew was coming next. He took a deep breath, and remembered Z’s encouraging words, “You can tell her. She deserves to know. You know her by now, you can trust her. She’ll be relieved.”

“I’m gay.”

“You’re what!?” she screamed, face turning bright red with anger.

“I- I’m gay. I like guys,” he stumbled, unsure how exactly he could invent a time machine within the next few minutes, and go back to moments ago, when Keltie was blissfully ignorant. She grabbed her sweater, pulling it back over her head, completely embarrassed. 

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t know how,” he sighed, hands shaking, realizing that this was it. She knew. It was her move now. 

“So what the fuck was this? What was any of this? Why the fuck did you ask me out in the first place? Why the fuck did you make me waste a year on this facade!? Why!? Answer me Ryan!” she had moved from sad into a state of absolute hysteria. 

“I don’t know,” he breathed. He felt bad. This wasn’t a good idea. 

“So, what? The second I leave do you go and suck dick!?” tears streamed down her face, which was slowly turning bright red. 

Ryan's mind trailed back to the frat party at U of T earlier that month, the one a former varsity player had invited him and Spencer to. He was drunk, the guy whose cock was down his throat was drunk too. Ryan didn't even remember his name. Thank god Spencer was busy helping Jon with some politics assignment and hadn’t gone. 

Ryan didn't dare tell Keltie, he just sat and stared at her, unsure of what to say. 

“Holy shit! You have!” she yelled. Ryan exercised his right to remain silent, but Keltie was still prepared to use everything he didn't say or didn't do against him. 

“Fuck you Ross! Everything you ever said was a fucking lie! Fuck you! You’re one sick bastard! Fuck you!” she swore, standing up and storming out of his bedroom. He was paralyzed as he heard her run down the stairs sobbing, then slam the front door shut. He heard the ignition of her car start to run, and tires 

Her virginal white bra still lay on his bedroom floor. He wondered if she had left it on purpose. His head was spinning. Did that really just happen? Did he really just do that? 

He pulled out his cellphone and saw a plethora of notifications, but ignored all of them to text Keltie a quick:  _ Please, don’t tell anyone keltie _

It took mere moments before she responded with  _ Fuck you. _

He dropped his phone and brought his shaking hands up to meet his face. He tried to focus on his breathing but his thoughts whirled quickly through his head, distracting and erratic. He sat for a minute at the edge of his bed, the frazzled prickling of anxiety spreading from his abdomen, threatening to overwhelm him. 

Ryan picked up his phone again, his movements feeling mechanical, and his arms like lead. He put his music on shuffle and Eleanor Rigby played, smooth and soft. He leaned to the side and he body dropped slowly to the bed. His face turned toward the bed and he could still smell her in the sheets, jasmine and vanilla. He curled in on himself, his long legs folding awkwardly over themselves and his arms pressed tightly against his chest.

He let his mind wander along, song after song until his eyes grew heavy and he drifted off to sleep. He woke up again several times, startled and disoriented but would then refocus on the music and fall back to sleep.

Ryan awoke the next morning to a blaring alarm cutting off Semi-Charmed Life halfway through. He had left the lights on and his legs and back were stiff from sleeping curled up. He stretched, his legs catching on his tight jeans. His clothes were disheveled from sleeping and he’d kicked his socks off in his sleep.

He got up and stripped the bed, mentally reminding himself to do laundry when he got home.

He got dressed, pulling on a pair of white jeans and black sweater. He didn’t want to put any effort into his appearance but that was overpowered by the need to still look great after breaking up with your girlfriend. He didn’t bother to shower though.

Ryan grabbed his phone and checked it. He’d gotten a few messages but chose to ignore them and thrust it into his back pocket before heading downstairs. It seemed as though his father had failed to return home the night before, but Ryan shrugged it off and grabbed himself a piece of toast. 

He packed his hockey bag and left it near the front door.

The ride to school was uneventful but crowded, as per usual on the TTC. When he got to his locker, Spencer was waiting for him. They walked to class together and Spencer kept glancing at Ryan nervously.

After Jon’s announcements were finished Mr. Beckett gave them a free period to work on a creative writing assignment for the book they had read, The Catcher in the Rye. 

Instead of pulling out the assignment, Spencer turned to Ryan, “Okay dude. What’s wrong?”

They had known each other for long enough that Ryan couldn’t hide anything from Spencer, not that he tried to very often.

Ryan shrugged, “Keltie and I broke up last night.”

“Ah. Are you okay?” Spencer asked gently. Behind Ryan, Brendon snorted.

Ryan ignored him, “I’m fine. A little down but it’s no big deal.”

“If you’re sure,” Spencer agreed uncertainly.

Ryan nodded.

“Well okay. Wanna hear how I totally embarrassed myself yesterday?” Spencer said, perking up.

“I’m always in the mood for that,” Ryan teased.

“You and me both,” Brendon muttered.

Ryan spun around angrily and Brendon looked up from his phone innocently.

“Nobody asked you, shithead,” Ryan seethed.

“You’re in class, I can listen if I want,” Brendon replied coldly.

Spencer patted Ryan’s shoulder, “It’s fine Ryan, he can listen if he wants.”

He winked at Brendon, “Maybe with this material you’ll be able to come up with some good insults.”

Brendon huffed and put an earbud in.

Jon walked into the classroom, nodding to Mr. Beckett as he came. He sat down next to Brendon and dumped his bag on the floor beside him.

“Hey guys! What’s happening?”

“Spence is about to tell us of his idiocy,” Ryan informed him. Over the last couple of weeks, Jon had been inserting himself into Ryan and Spencer’s friendship duo. Initially Ryan had been apathetic, but Jon was a great guy and Ryan was really starting to like him.

Jon grinned, “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Well you can be the judge of that,” Spencer said. “Okay. Right. So I met this girl.”

“Is this the one you talked about before?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah but I’m going back to the beginning to fill Jon and Brendon in,” Spencer waved him off. “Okay so her name is Linda Ignarro and she’s in my World Issues class. Anyway we were talking about the election coming up and she absolutely destroyed this one conservative douchebag who was defending Stephen Harper. So, I’ve been wanting to talk to her ever since. I think she’s a liberal like me and it’d be nice to like swap opinions about party politics and whatever right?”

“How invigorating,” Ryan said sarcastically. In all honesty, Ryan was getting a little bored with Spencer’s heterosexual bullshit. He could easily just talk to her. 

“Shut up Ross! Anyway, I got a job at Tim’s and turns out she works at the same one,” Spencer continued.

“And you still haven’t talked to her even though it’s been like two weeks since you started working there,” Ryan added. “It’s like you’re trying to defy fate.”

Spencer jabbed a finger at Ryan, “Aha, got you there! I have talked to her now! So it’s busy and I’m rushing and I was putting the lid on this one guy’s coffee at the same time as I was walking and I moved to get around another employee and splashed coffee all over her back.”

“Oh my god,’ Jon groaned covering his eyes. “You didn’t.”

“Yeah I know,” Spencer agreed. “She screamed a little cus it was boiling hot and I’m just like shit what do I do? I tell her I’ll cover her cash while she gets changed and runs cold water over her back or whatever. And she runs off and comes back in a new shirt like twenty minutes later. By then it had calmed down so we started chatting and she gave me her number!”

“Congrats!” Ryan enthused. 

Brendon snorted, “What a fuck up.”

“You can’t get girls to even talk to you, let alone get a girlfriend,” Ryan snapped, turning around again. “So fuck off.”

“You know, maybe I don’t  _ want  _ a girlfriend Ross,” Brendon said.

Ryan caught Brendon’s gaze and stared at him trying to determine the meaning of what Brendon had just said. Was he dissing Ryan’s ex-girlfriends? Maybe he just didn’t like girls? Brendon raised his chin and looked at Ryan down the length of his nose. Jon’s eyes darted back and forth between them, nervously waiting for a bomb or it’s equivalent to go off.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Urie?” Ryan asked, narrowing his eyes.

Brendon dropped his head down again, “You know what? Forget it Ross, I don’t want to talk to you.”

He put his other earbud in and Ryan scoffed, “Well that’s rich considering you’re the one who keeps talking to me.”

Brendon ignored him and focused on the blank paper in front of him.

“So uh,” Jon said, anxious to continue the conversation. “How’s your girlfriend doing?”

Spencer’s eyes widened in panic.

“Well probably not too great,” Ryan replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “We broke up yesterday.”

Jon’s face fell, “Oh shit man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Ryan felt the familiar sensation of guilt and fear squeeze his lungs. He struggled out a “It’s no big deal” before turning back to his work on his desk.

Spencer patted Ryan’s shoulder but continued to talk to Jon until the bell rang.

When Z arrived for creative writing class Ryan chest lightened. They decided to skip third and fourth period together, and they sat outside on the bleachers next to the football field. The more he talked about what happened the less guilty he felt about the whole situation. Z laughed when he told her that Keltie had left her bra at his house, but for the most part she was solemn and calm, occasionally putting in her own two cents. 

They went back inside for lunch, and they sat at Ryan’s usual table. Keltie was nowhere to be seen.

Ryan skipped his gym class, but he went to his next two classes. Biology was boring and Ryan wished he had skipped. Brendon Urie was a pain in French class as usual, tapping away at his desk next to Ryan’s and making snide comments at the teacher. Normally Ryan would have made fun of Brendon, but he didn’t bother today. Urie kept giving him sharp looks, which Ryan ignored.

Z agreed to skip last period with him and they decided to meet at his locker after seventh. He packed his homework into his bag and waited for her. Brendon stopped by his locker and glared at Ryan lounging against his own, but didn’t comment when Ryan didn’t bother to head off to class. 

By the time the class bell had rung Z still wasn’t there. Ryan rolled his eyes, and started in the direction of Z’s locker. As he turned the corner into her hallway he heard raised voices and noticed a crowd of girls.

As he got closer he recognized Z’s voice and he felt his stomach drop when he realized she was yelling at Keltie.

“You fucking bitch!” Z screeched, stepping towards Keltie.

“Leave me the fuck alone! He broke my heart, he fucking used me, I can say whatever I fucking want!” Keltie snapped back.

“You cannot! He trusted you enough to tell you in the first place and then you just go around telling whoever fucking pleases you about it! It’s none of their fucking business!” Z’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Ryan jogged over to her.

“Z’s what’s going on?” he demanded. 

“She told people,” Z replied through gritted teeth.

Ryan turned to Keltie in shock, but she just stared hatefully back.

“Oh please, as if I was spilling any big secret,” she sneered. “Everyone knows he’s a fucking fag anyway.”

Ryan stepped back, feeling light headed.

Teachers and students had started poking their heads out of classrooms to see what the commotion was about. A teacher with a loud voice called out “Students! Be quiet and get to class!”

Z ignore him and and held her ground against Keltie.

“You take that back right now and never talk about it again, I swear to god,” Z threatened.

Keltie scoffed, “What are you gonna do about it, dump a slushie on me?”

“Take it back,” Z warned again.

“No.”

Z’s arm was up like a flash and she hit Keltie’s cheek with a loud  _ Slap! _ Keltie’s mouth fell open, but she quickly recovered and lunged at Z, knocking Z back into the lockers.

One of Keltie’s friends yelled for a teacher, but Ryan just stared numbly as his friend and his ex-girlfriend struggled with each other, scratching and pulling. Keltie had Z pushed against the locker and kept hitting her back into it, her head hitting it once with a loud crash.

With effort, Z pushed keltie off of her and flung her to the side. Keltie went down hard slamming into the lockers a metre and a half down the hall. She crouched as if to spring at Z again, but she was grabbed from behind by a teacher just as Z was being restrained herself.

The two girls were dragged off to the office and Ryan was left in the hallway with Keltie’s friends. They were all giving him icy stares, but his own heart was beating so wildly in his chest that he barely noticed. He turned away from them and walked down the hallway, as students from the surrounding classes were peering out in curiousity to see what all the noise had been about. Brendon Urie was standing in one of the doorways his eyebrows raised and Ryan’s eyes met his.There was no judgement as usual, just curiosity and maybe a bit of sympathy and Ryan looked away disgusted.

Once he made it outside the school he collapsed on the stairs and stared blankly out at the streets. His thoughts returned quickly to what had happened, and he couldn’t keep the unrelenting dread from settling as he thought about how loud Keltie had been. The whole school would know about this by the end of the day.

He pulled out his phone and sent Z a text asking for details on what had happened, and praying she hadn’t yet been taken into see the principal yet and could still respond.

She responded quickly;  _ she was telling her friends about the breakup and that you were gay in my philosophy class, i heard and confronted her. then you showed up. the rest is history as they say _

And then,  _ gtg they’re taking me in to see boss man _

Ryan shut off his phone, and tried to breath.There was still twenty minutes of class left. He could have just shown up for law late but the idea of going to class at that point made his stomach clench. 

He sat outside on the steps for the rest of the period. There weren’t many people around, but a women did walk by the school with her basset hound. Ryan smiled at the way the little dog puttered by on such stumpy legs.

Some students walked by him too and he nodded at them. They were chattering away, and the one girl in the group giggled into her hand when she saw him. Ryan tried to convince himself that he had imagined it but with the recent drama he was was unsuccessful.

Finally the bell rang and Ryan picked up his bag and trudged back inside. People bustled around as usual, but Ryan felt as if everyone was staring at him as he walked toward his locker.

Spencer was already at their lockers when Ryan got there.

“Hey man!” he said. Ryan nodded in acknowledgement and spun the dial on his combination lock.

“So I heard you dumped Keltie cus you’re gay? Why didn’t you tell me?” Spencer shook his head. “The rumours these lowlifes come up with.”

Ryan froze, hand still on his lock.

Spencer noticed and said, “Hey Ryan, you okay? You look kind of pale.”

“That’s...” Ryan took a deep breath and pulled off the lock. “That’s not a rumour.”

“Oh,” Spencer said. “Shit man, sorry that’s gotten out. I guess Z and Keltie didn’t really get into a fight cus you were cheating on Keltie with Z then?”

“Ah. Well they got into a fight but it wasn’t because of that,” Ryan trailed off.

“Sounds like a story,” Spencer told him, grabbing his backpack.

“I think they both got suspended,” Ryan said. “But I’ll hear from Z later.”

Brendon walked up beside Spencer. He squinted at Ryan and then said, “You guys both made the varsity team.”

Spencer turned around, his whole face brightening, “Wait seriously? They’ve posted the list?”

Brendon shrugged, “Yeah, on the Gym office doors.”

“Yes!” Spencer squealed.

“Chill, Spence,’ Ryan told him. “That wasn’t exactly a surprise.”

“Live a little RyRo!” Spencer chided him. “You’re allowed to be happy about nice things.”

“Did you make the team?” Ryan asked Brendon, trying to keep the disdain from his voice but failing.

Brendon scowled, “Of course I made the fucking team. And here I was being nice...”

Ryan stared at him uncertainly, “Sorry. Uh, congratulations then.”

“Yeah whatever, Ross,” Brendon said slamming his locker. He spun on his heel and stormed away.

“What a drama queen,” Spencer snickered.

“Yeah,” Ryan said, watching Brendon’s back disappears into the throng of students. “Yeah, I guess so.”


	6. Hey Bitch the @ Button is Right There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has some french in it but there's hover text on all of it so you can tell what they're saying!! thank you to everyone for reading this and supporting us! we appreciate every single one of you! (also special shout out to nic's brother for checking our french and hockey terminology)  
> on a lighter note this chapter's song is [take off (feat. geddy lee)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Jm4LoOaAWI) by bob and doug mackenzie. geddy lee is the lead singer of canadian prog rock band rush, and bob and doug mackenzie were co-hosts of a canadian comedy sketch called the great white north

The leaves turned from green to vibrant colours, signalling the end of September. October began the same way September had ended. Whisperings travelled through the halls about what had happened between the infamous power couple. The head cheerleader and the captain of the varsity hockey team. Stories varied between who you asked. The majority believed that Ryan had dumped Keltie, and that she was spewing bullshit to make him look bad. Some believed their breakup was mutual, that it had just fallen apart. It was believable, considering they had been together for a year and most couples at their school could barely last a month.

The final, and most shocking, was that the perfect Canadian boy, the symbol of manliness, debatably the most admired boy in the 11th grade, was gay. Ask anyone who spent any time with Keltie, and that would be the answer they would give.

Basically only Keltie’s little clique of 12th grade cheerleaders believed the story, but nevertheless Brendon secretly hoped that maybe, just maybe, it was true. Not because Brendon was into Ross. No. That couldn’t be the reason.

It must’ve been because he needed some new ammunition. Normally he only had to insult Ross on ice, but this year they had three classes together, which meant he had to be constantly on his toes.

“Brendon Urie? Did you hear me?” their pretty blonde French teacher asked him. Brendon snapped out of his daze, and noticed Ross squinting at the pen Brendon was continuously clicking.

Brendon shook his head, embarrassed. The rest of their class was giggling.

“You and your seat partner have to write a basic conversation about your school year so far, it’s due Thursday, before the Thanksgiving long weekend. You have every class until Thursday to work on it.”

Ew. A French project with the kid who never spoke French? Brendon wasn’t even sure how Ross was passing this class.  
Ryan raised his hand, but barely. That very obvious attempt to make it look like you don’t care at all, but you do.

“Yes, Ryan?”

“Mlle. Ivarsson, j'serai pas icitte jeudi,” Ross announced. What the fuck did he just say?

“Et pourquoi?"” she asked. This gave no context to Ryan’s French. Brendon was good at French. He was really good at it. Ryan was probably just using it wrong.

“M'as visiter ma famille,” he muttered. Brendon wondered why Ryan’s French had a weird, nasally tone to it. Probably trying too hard. Ryan would never be as good as Brendon, he didn’t even have to work at it.

“Ok. Toi et Brendon présenterez mercredi,” she said.

“D’accord,” Brendon had never heard that word before.

“Commencez à travailler maintenant, s’il vous plaît,” Mlle. Ivarsson said.

“Listen, Brendon, I don’t want to have to work with you anymore than you want to work with me,” Ryan asserted before Brendon even had the opportunity to open his mouth.

“Glad to know the feeling’s mutual,” Brendon agreed.

“Listen, I’ll just write us the script so that you can spend your time fixing your shitty slapshot,” Ross insulted him. Brendon didn’t know whether to thank him or shoot something back.

“Oh, fuck off. At least it takes more than someone breathing on me to knock me over,” he chirped back.  
Ross didn’t answer, only shot him a nasty look before moving to retrieve something from his bag. Brendon attempted to resist the urge to look at Ross’s ass as it lifted off of his seat, but alas, it was all for nothing. Ross did have a nice ass. All of his extra hours in the gym definitely did him well. Not to mention his tendency towards skinny jeans, the black, ripped up pair he was wearing today complimented him well.

Right before he was caught, Brendon managed to tear himself away from the sight of Ross’s butt and pretend to be looking at a Dr & Mrs Vandertramp poster on the other side of the classroom. He silently cursed Ross, why did he have to have such a perfectly round ass? It simply wasn’t fair. Bad people don’t deserve good asses.

Brendon pulled his phone out of his pocket, awkwardly looking under the table after he slid the screen unlocked. He didn’t have a passcode, in his family, that was seen as suspicious.

He noticed the red badge on the messages, 32 messages. He opened the app, and every one of them was from a group chat between their hockey team. It was normally entitled _the real puck sluts™_ with all of the sexual emojis one could possibly imagine, but right now, it appeared as _daddy dallon_ with the sexual frownie face copied 4 times. Brendon decided that just for shits and giggles, he’d read it from where he had last opened it.

_Kenny: 420 blaze it_

_Brent: Kenny its 12pm_

_Kenny: it’s 420 somewhere_

_Dallon: guys_

_Ian: what_

_Brent: what_

_Dan: what_

_Kenny: dallon pls tell us daddy_

_Dan: holy shit kenny shut the fuck up_

_Kenny: you’re so rude to me daniel_

_Dallon: GUYS_

_Kenny Harris has changed the name of the group to_ **_daddy dallon_ **

_Ian: KENNY_

_Dan: KENNETH AARON HARRIS_

_Brent: who’s kicking kenny this time_

_Dan Pawlovich has removed Kenny Harris from the group_

_Dallon: LISTEN GUYS_

_Shane: waddup my phone just finished charging_

_Ian: shouldn’t u like. Be in school_

_Shane: nah_

_Dallon Weekes has added Kenny Harris to the group_

_Kenny: I’m back with memes danker than ever_

_Brent: wtf dallon_

_Dallon: he was harassing me in a DM i felt bad_

_Brent: who’s kicking Dallon_

_Shane: nah_

_Dallon: OMFG r y’all ever gonna stfu_

_Brent: dallon knows how to swear? Damn i had no idea_

_Dallon: stfu brent_

_Dallon: I got the lead in my school play!!! U guys should all come see it!! I’m danny zuko!!_

_Shane: wtf dallon ur gay that’s not fair_

_Kenny: don’t be mean!_

_Shane: how am i being mean dallon’s gay_

_Kenny: he deserves equal opportunities to the rest of us bros!! I will definitely be there bro. U can count on me_

_Brent: wait since when does kenny know how to say anything other than rare pepe 420 and dank_

Brendon chuckled a little bit under his breath. He really did love all of the guys on his hockey team.

He went to open his private message with Dallon, and sent a quick _hey, congrats_ , then closed it and locked his phone.

He turned to look at Ross, who had the pink eraser of his pencil pressed against his even pinker lips. His jaw was clenched in hyperfocus, prominent and angular. Probably trying to remember what bonjour meant or something. Little strands of hair fell over his chiseled face as he hunched back over the piece of lined paper, which already had some French words written on it in capital letters. Wow, how had he managed to google translate all of that so quickly?

Brendon barely noticed it, but instead of using his last initial on the script, Ryan was using the letter _B._ Brendon had honestly forgotten that Ross still knew his first name, after so many years of calling one another by their last names, and only addressing one another in the form of insults.

“Can I help you?” Ross looked up from his paper and at Brendon, who recoiled back.

“Just making sure you don’t fuck up our French project,” Brendon responded, a little too quickly. Ross raised an eyebrow at him, but then went back to his work.

Brendon relaxed back into the cold, hard chair of his French desk. He couldn’t make a habit of looking at Ross like that. He pulled his phone back out of his pocket, and saw two notifications on the lockscreen from Dallon. He unlocked it and then opened the messages app. He smiled when he read _Thanks bro!_ And then _Can I count on u to be there?_ Brendon wasn’t really sure what to say to that.

“Oh, by the way Urie, I’m not sure if you understood what me and Mademoiselle were saying earlier or not, but I’m gone Thursday so we have to present Wednesday,” Ross interrupted Brendon’s attempts to materialize a response for Dallon. So that’s what they were talking about. Brendon knew that.

“I don’t fucking care, just finish the fucking project on time and we’ll be fine,” Brendon replied. Deep down, he wondered where exactly Ross was going to be on Thursday that was so much more important than their French project.

He focused his attention back onto his phone, and sent Dallon back _yeah, i’ll try my best, but u know how my dad is._ He quickly deleted it, as soon as the tiny grey letters “delivered” appeared under it. Dallon knew better than to respond.

“So where are you going anyways?” Brendon asked, sounding a little bit too interested in Ross’s personal life. He cursed himself for letting his curiosity get the better of him.

“Visiting family,” Ryan responded, sounding detached. His full focus was still on their French project.  
“And that requires a five fucking day weekend? Sounds to me like you’re just trying to get out of school,” Brendon prodded. Now he didn’t seem so interested.

“They live in Quebec City,” he replied. If Ross had family in Quebec, then why was he so fucking bad at French? One of life’s greatest mysteries. They were probably just his distant cousins or something.

The bell rang, and Brendon silently thanked God. He didn’t need anymore awkward interactions with Ross. This time, as Ryan went to his bag, Brendon managed to keep his eyes off of his ass. Progress.

When he got to cosmetology class, Ms. Orzechowski was sitting at his desk, absentmindedly filing her nails. Brendon always thought she was hot. After all, she was his excuse for taking this class.

Standing at one of the desks, staring in the mirror and plucking her eyebrows was Audrey. Her elbows were resting on the counter, her body leaned over and ass sticking out in a bright white miniskirt. It wasn’t as nice as Ross’s, Brendon observed. He also wondered why it was that she was still wearing miniskirts, it had snowed just yesterday. He hoped she wasn’t too cold.

She kept having to brush pieces of her hot pink bangs out of her eyes, and Brendon wondered why she kept them so big. She looked like something straight out of 2005, the typical scene kid.

Brendon purposely took a space at a counter on the other end of the classroom. Audrey had been hitting on him a lot lately, and he wasn’t really in the mood for that today.

The second bell rang, and Brendon was very aware of the fact that almost everyone had skipped. Left in the room were him, the teacher, Audrey, and about five other girls.  
“Since everyone has so graciously decided to skip my class today,” Ms. Orzechowski began, sounding pissed off. “Free day today. Practice whatever skills you want. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me.”

Brendon contemplated going to talk to the young teacher. Maybe try to put the moves on her. She couldn’t have been that much older than him, six or seven years at the most. Unfortunately, his moral code got the better of him. Instead, he just sat and absentmindedly played Twist on his phone.

He felt breath on his shoulder, and jolted back when his eyes were met with extremely heavy black eye makeup.  
“Hey Brendon,” Audrey smiled. Ugh. Not this again.

“Hey Audrey, what can I do for you?” Brendon asked, displaying false kindness.

“Oh, uh, I uh,” she stumbled.

“I uh, too,” Brendon laughed in response. Audrey playfully slapped his arm.

“Brendon!” she squeaked.

“So what’s the deal?” Brendon asked.

“I um. I was wondering if you, uh, wanted to maybe, get coffee together sometime or something?” Audrey asked. Ha, fuck Ross! Brendon could get a girlfriend, and he could do it rather easily. Not that Brendon could remember what Ross had said two weeks ago.

“Are you asking me out?” Brendon asked, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards. He wasn’t happy that Audrey was asking him out, but rather, that he had successfully proved Ross wrong.

“Yes,” she said. Brendon’s chest tightened. It wasn’t funny anymore, he had to come up with some ridiculous excuse for why he couldn’t go out with her.

“You know Audrey, I’m flattered but,” he started. He wasn’t sure of what to say, then remembered what Dallon had told him that he always used as excuses. “I’m just really trying to focus on my hockey career right now, okay? I’m on my way to the NHL, and I can’t have any girls distracting me. I hope you understand.”

Audrey’s face fell, “You don’t even have time for one date?”

Brendon squirmed, “I just don’t want to get involved, you know? Hockey’s very important to me, and you’d just feel like a second place to it. Or something like that.”

“If you really don’t like me you could have just said so,” she sighed.

“No I didn’t mean it like that!” Brendon amended quickly. “You’re a great girl and I’m flattered. But I just feel like my life right now is too busy for a girlfriend? I only get to see my friends because they play hockey with me.”

Despite his explanations, Audrey still looked crushed by his rejection. Brendon couldn’t think of anything else to say to her so he pulled out his phone again to seem distracted. When he looked up again Audrey had slinked out of the classroom. The other girls hadn’t been paying any attention to their conversation but Ms. Orzechowski was staring at him, her eyebrow raised quizzically. Her attention made him nervous, as if she was looking into his very soul and uncovering his deepest darkest secrets. Not that he had very many, but if he did, she could see them.

He considered going up to her desk and asking her a question about hairstyling, which was his favourite part of the class, but instead he refocused on his phone. Talking to her wouldn’t have made him feel any less vulnerable.

When the bell finally rang Brendon was out of the classroom faster than a breakaway. With school finished for the day it was time to get back to the one thing he was actually good at: Hockey.

*       *       *

The next two days passed quickly. School was generally dull and meaningless, and there was no real pressure for him to do any work. Ryan had finished the script for French by Tuesday, and so he and Brendon practiced it twice together, with Ryan stopping every time he spoke to correct his pronunciation. Not that Brendon paid him any mind, seeing as Ryan literally could not speak French.

Other than to occasionally insult Brendon’s french, Ryan seemed subdued. He didn’t react as violently to everything Brendon said like he normally did, and mostly just stared at Brendon and blinked rapidly. He looked a little worn out, but having practices and games so late at night did that to you and Brendon could sympathize. He could sympathize with Ross a lot more than he cared to admit most times, but the lull in their rivalry allowed Brendon to acknowledge that maybe Ryan wasn’t such a bad guy? Like he was pretty to look at and when he didn’t talk much, he wasn’t so bad.

With Ryan’s sudden change in behaviour Brendon had been surprised to overhear Spencer and Ryan arguing at their lockers on Wednesday morning when he’d arrived at school.

“Ryan look at yourself! This isn’t healthy! You’re not helping anyone,” Spencer had snapped.

Ryan had shrugged apathetically -or maybe it was exhaustion?- but hadn’t dignified Spencer with a reply when when he saw Brendon approach.

Jon seemed happy with whatever truce Ryan and Brendon had established for the time being. He talked about how nice it was that they weren’t fighting constantly, and how they could really become friends now. Brendon didn’t know what Jon’s deal with friendship was and why he was so optimistic about theirs, but he smiled and humoured the guy. Of all the people he was forced to hang around with everyday, Jon was the most tolerable. At least he was a genuinely pleasant person.

Unlike some people he knew.

Brendon and Ryan’s presentation went well, although the class kept laughing at them. Brendon assumed it was just Ryan’s terrible French, but he also didn’t understand most of what he was saying. Did Ryan even bother to check if the Google translate had been right?

At one point Ryan had made Brendon say “Ben, j’ai raté mon examen de mathématiques car je jouais l’hockey, mais tu sais quoi? Je le rate aussi.” and as he said it Ryan had thrown his head back and laughed, his hand quickly covering his mouth. Brendon had stared at him, mesmerized and bewildered until Ryan had stopped and recited his next line.

As they sat back down at their desks, Brendon had leaned over to Ryan, “Hey, uh, good job and thanks for writing the script.”

Ryan stared at him incredulously, “Um. Thanks?”

Brendon waited patiently for Ryan to compliment him back but Ryan had just turned back to his French work in front of him.

When they went up to get their marks on the project a few minutes later Mlle. Ivarsson gave them both a stony look.

“La prochaine fois, Ryan, on va laisser Brendon à faire ses propres devoirs?” she asked him.

“P't'êt. On verra bien,” Ryan shrugged. He looked down at his mark and smiled smugly.

Brendon’s own mark was nothing to smile about. He’d gotten 14/20, not even 75%. And he’d even memorized the stupid script too. Her notes said something about pronunciation but he couldn’t make out the rest of what she said as her handwriting was messy and also in French.

At hockey that night Brendon thought he’d had a decent practice but as he’d been chatting with Brent in the changeroom afterwards Ryan kept sending him the dirtiest looks. He had received all of that bastard’s shitty passes and hadn’t chirped him once! Brendon wondered if maybe it was just some kind of miscommunication so as they were leaving the arena Brendon had said bye to Ryan, who hadn’t acknowledge him at all. It had been in front of half of the hockey team and as Brendon had withdrawn his hand from the wave, his face had heated up.

He tried not to let it get to him, after all Ryan might not have heard him, but the nagging feeling in his gut told him that maybe his attempts at friendship were being rather rudely declined.

On Thursday Ryan wasn’t there, and after the budding camaraderie between them over the past week Brendon almost missed him. Or maybe he just missed looking at him and his ass. It was hard to say.

Still, by French class there was a very noticeable Ryan Ross shaped hole in his day. Maybe he missed the bantering or whatever but it felt strange that he was missing from three of their three classes together. Even if Ryan did skip French and Gym a lot, he was always in English class.

As he sat down in his usual seat, Brendon remembered that he would just be listening to presentations and cursed himself for not skipping. At least he had his phone with him.

Ryan’s seat felt like a void next to him, and Brendon wondered once again why he missed the other boy’s presence so much. Surely he wasn’t that pretty.

He grabbed a pen from his backpack and fiddled with it absently. He had to stop thinking about Ross as if the guy was a major part of his life.

Surprisingly, Ryan’s seat filled up quickly. A boy who usually sat across the classroom, with a mop of scraggly brown hair and a grey beanie, plopped himself down next to Brendon. He stuck his hand out, “Hey, I’m Alex.”

Brendon shook his hand awkwardly, “Um hi.”

“I noticed your friend isn’t here, and you’ll notice my friend is also not here, so I came over to introduce myself,” Alex told him.

Brendon looked around the classroom and noticed that the guy with the blonde streak who usually sat near Alex was missing.

“Did he skip?”

Alex shrugged, “Probably. He’s so shit at French.”

“I see,” Brendon totally did not understand that feeling. “Um, is there anything in particular you wanted to talk to me about?”

“What, a guy can’t make polite conversation?” Alex asked innocently. “I’m kidding. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay...”

He leaned closer to Brendon, “So did you like, not understand any of your script yesterday? Or were you two just totally fucking with us?”

“Umm... What?”

“You had no clue,” Alex said flatly. “Damn, I owe Jack lunch. Ross is a mean fucker, isn’t he?”

Brendon shrugged, “I guess?”

“Listen, you naive child. Ross totally humiliated you and you don’t even know,” Alex leaned away and shook his head. “I admire that. I don’t know if I want to spoil this.”

Brendon frowned, “Listen fucker, you can’t tell me just that and not tell me everything.”

“Hey, chill out. I know, I know,” Alex said throwing his hands up in defense. “Okay so everything Ross made you say yesterday? It was an insult. Like a self burn. You probably insulted every single thing about yourself.”

“What?!”

“Man I wish I’d gotten it on video...” Alex said. “There was this really good one too, something like ‘I failed my math test because of hockey, too bad I fail at that too’ god, it was so ruthless. And like something about being too shitty to ever play major league hockey, and god maybe something about speaking French so terribly that you make people bleed from their ears.”

“I said all of that? About myself?” Brendon asked unbelievingly.

“Yeah, as I said, Ross is one mean fucker,” Alex replied.

“What the fuck,” Brendon snarled, his hand clenching around his pen.

“Dude, what are you gonna do?” Alex asked. “Are you gonna fight him?”  
“Already done that,” Brendon said through clenched teeth.

“No shit? Well let me know when you’re gonna do it the next time so I can watch,” Alex said.

“Sure thing,” Brendon said, but his voice sounded strangled and harsh.

Mlle. Ivarsson called the class to order and started the presentations, so Alex returned back to his regular seat. He tried to focus on the presentations, his pretty teacher, the posters on the walls but all Brendon could think about was how badly Ross had fucked him over. He’d been totally lured into a false sense of security. The dude had totally set him up. First he’d made Brendon believe they were starting to be friends and then he’d totally made a fool of him. He’d humiliated him in front of the whole French class, and with that many people in front of the class he might as well have done it in front of the whole school. He hoped nobody had taped them. God, that’s why Ross had laughed at him. He hated him so much.

Without thinking he opened his phone. He didn’t have any texts and didn’t really feel like texting anyone himself. He didn’t use most of his social media, he just didn’t have the patience most of the time, but today he opened Twitter. He and Ross used to shade each other a lot last year and the year before that but they’d toned it down since then. It felt time to bring it back.

He quickly typed up a tweet,

He typed Ryan’s @ into the search bar and pulled up his twitter. In Ryan's profile picture, Ryan hair was shirt and shaved on the sides, but it had been over a year since Ryan's hair had been that short. He sported a flow, like many hockey players (Brendon's favourite player, Erik Karlsson included) and the ends of his hair curled up at his shoulders. Brendon didn't pause for too long on the profile picture and began to scroll down. Ryan's first couple tweets were about going to see family and hockey (what else?) but there, three tweets from the top.

Brendon seethed at his desk. That asshole! It wasn’t like Brendon asked for his father to be an ex-pro hockey player. God, he’s just mentioned a few of his dad’s streaks the night before and Ross was giving him this bullshit?

Normally Brendon would have just ignored Ryan’s indirects but with the pent up anger from Ryan totally humiliating him and the mention of his father -as if Ross had a fucking clue what he was talking about- Brendon’s critical thinking skills were in low supply.

Ryan’s reply was almost instantaneous.

Before Brendon could type out a reply he got another notification.

As if Jon knew a fucking thing about him and Ross. Fuck that guy.

He tweeted at Ryan again who replied equally fast.

It was such a simple message, but it was enough to get Brendon’s already boiling blood to evaporate. Time to hit Ross where it hurt.

As he waited for a reply, he looked up and saw that Alex and his seating partner were presenting. He felt conflicted over whether he should thank the bastard or punch him in the face for spilling the beans. Preferably both.

He returned to twitter to his notifications blowing up. A bunch of classmates were liking one of his tweets and retweeting it. He frowned. It seemed this twitter argument was far more public than he had assumed. Figured, considering Ross was one of the most popular kids in school.

Brendon rolled his eyes. Of course Keltie and Z had gotten involved. Would Ross’s girlfriends leave him alone? He didn’t care about them, or their petty feud over Ross.

Finally the notification he had been waiting for arrived.

That fucking asshole! Who did he think he was? And Brendon had wanted to be friends with him? He had no fucking respect. God, Brendon hated him. He hated him so much. What a fucking bitch ass, rude motherfucker.

It figured he was a homophobic piece of shit too.

He noticed that the classroom was silent, and they were all staring at him. It occurred to him he might have said all of that outloud.

Mlle. Ivarsson rubbed her temples, “Veux-tu répéter ça?”

Brendon covered his face in his hands.When he looked up, he said sheepishly, “I’ll just pack my stuff and go to the office now.”

He picked up his phone and stuffed his binder and pen into his backpack. As he walked out of the classroom, Alex gave him a little wave and Brendon scowled.

As he walked down the hall he composed another tweet.

He noticed that Spencer had tweeted at him and so had Jon. That was just like them sticking their nose in his business. Stupid Ross and his stupid friends.

Brendon scowled again and shrugged his backpack up on to his shoulder. As he made his way to the principal's office the class bell rang, and Brendon drifted into the crowd, his blue Herschel backpack disappearing in the throng of people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoser- an insult, equivalent of loser/idiot (although it's originally about hockey -what isn't?- this term was made popular by bob and doug mackenzie's "the great white north" comedy sketch. so check them out for more annoying canadians)


	7. They Don't Call it H-E-Double Hockey Sticks for No Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so behold, the hell chapter (aka nic's pride and joy). we're updating a bit early as bella's going on vacation, so hockey fic will actually update twice this week, today and sunday. we also have a bit of a surprise planned for next friday too.  
> since bella wouldn't let nic link a 10 minute long reading of the classic children's book "le chandail" by roch carrier, this week's canadian video is [the log driver's waltz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=upsZZ2s3xv8). one time in the sixth grade bella and nic had to do an english assignment on it

With the familiar sound of Spencer’s tower bag echoing in the arena lobby, Ryan walked into the Bulls’ arena lobby with confidence in his step and a hockey stick in his hand. He felt on top of his game. Better than even. The varsity team had a good lineup this year, with the exception of their first line left winger; a one Brendon Urie. But besides that, the team was similar to the Huskies. His right was Alex Greenwald as per usual and they worked together so well from years of practice that they almost made up for Urie’s faults.

Not that he actually had many, which made Ryan furious.

Or normally did. Since Thanksgiving, he and Urie hadn’t spoken much. He would occasionally catch Brendon staring at him hatefully and quickly looking away but unlike before, he never provoked any fights. Maybe the guy was finally growing up.

Or maybe not. Ryan watched disgusted as Urie blew a bubble of gum and let it pop on his face. Brendon caught his look and stared at him impassively until Ryan forced himself to turn away. Angry staring contests with Urie were pointless and immature.

Mr. Saporta and Mr. Beckett were standing by the changeroom door, Mr. Saporta sagging against the wall and Mr. Beckett holding a clipboard. He had his characteristic long hair pulled out of his face by a wool toque, already prepared for the chill of the arena. He was wearing a heavy coat, despite the fact that the ice pads were only a couple degrees below zero. Mr. Saporta on the other hand had only a light jacket, and hadn’t even bothered with gloves, looking more the part of a typical hockey coach.

Mr. Beckett had been coaching the hockey team with Mr. Saporta since Ryan had started playing hockey when he was a niner, but Ryan wasn’t entirely sure that Mr Beckett knew anything about  hockey at all. Or even if he knew how to skate. If Mr. beckett’s slight figure was any indication Ryan would guess that he had never touched a piece of sports equipment in his life.

Mr Saporta on the other hand was at times more enthusiastic about hockey than Ryan’s coach on the Huskies. He had clearly been playing hockey for most of his life although Ryan had never bothered asking the level of hockey he had played. It was Mr Saporta who did most of the coaching, with Mr Beckett occasionally adding words of encouragement and support, and filling out most of the paperwork, even if that was supposed to be the manager’s job.

If anyone was surprised that their manager didn’t fill out paperwork it was because they had never met him before. The only managerial job Jon ever did was carry the water bottles and hockey sticks to the bench. He served more as another coach, strapping on a pair of skates at practices and giving out instructions when needed. He wasn’t a bad skater but his technique was messy and he had none of the finesse that the rep players had.

Jon had been trying out for rep since he was a novice but he had never made the team. He had still tried out for the school varsity team and hadn’t made that either. After Jon had revealed that to him, Ryan wondered how Jon could keep up a jovial attitude towards the sport after being rejected so many times. He had stuck around to be the varsity team’s manager and was at the arena as much as Ryan was with his timekeeping job and playing houseleague hockey.

As Spencer and Ryan dropped their hockey bags on the floor in the changeroom, Jon walked over to them. He’d grabbed the clipboard from Mr. Beckett and tossed it beside Ryan.

“Don’t you need that?” Ryan teased.

Jon blinked, “Nah, it’s just for show. I don’t know what a single one of these sheets of paper are for. Attendance maybe?”

Spencer laughed, “Who needs that anyway? Are you gonna run through the warm up with us?”

Jon’s face lit up at Spencer’s laugh but then fell at the mention of warm up. “I didn’t even make the hockey team, why do I need to do the warm up? This is unfair.”

Spencer patted Jon’s belly fondly, “It’ll be good for you.”

Jon glowered, “Fine. Fine I’ll do the warmup.”

Spencer smiled again and Ryan laughed at the two of them. His skin prickled and he felt as though someone was staring at him but he passed it off as nothing.

When Ryan caught his breath Jon was staring thoughtfully at both Ryan and Spencer.

“I want payback for this, though,” he warned.

“I think I can afford to buy you a new pair of sandals,” Ryan said.

“I’ll take them if you’re offering,” Jon said. “But no. Both of you have to my hockey practice.”

“Like, a houseleague practice?” Spencer said testily.

Jon nodded, “Yeah. It’s pretty laidback compared to your practices and I’m sure nobody would have a problem with fresh blood on the ice.”

“Fresh blood?” Ryan scoffed.

“Yeah man, “Jon said. “Houseleague is rough. It gets pretty intense.”

Ryan did a double-take when he realized how serious Jon was being.

“So? Deal or no deal?” Jon asked.

“Boys! Stop chatting and start warmup!” Mr. Beckett called from his vantage point at the door.

Jon looked meaningfully at Ryan and Spencer.

Spencer chewed his lip and then stuck out his hand, “Okay you got yourself a deal.”

They shook and Ryan grinned. Even if it was just a houseleague practice Ryan was looking forward to hanging out with Jon.

Although Jon and Ryan had only known each other for a month and a half, they got along splendidly. Any apprehension Ryan had towards him butting into his tight-knit duo with Spencer had disappeared into the air and been replaced by a feeling of warmth towards the other boy. He had spent thanksgiving texting him, Z and Tom Oakes, another friend on the hockey team as he avoided his grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles and most importantly, his father.

In the week preceding Thanksgiving, Ryan hadn’t slept much from anxiety about the upcoming weekend and a sense of self-deprecation much stronger than he’d felt in a while. The familiar bouts of winter depression were beginning to weigh more heavily on him, but he was pushing past it as best as he could. This year was important for his hockey career and he didn’t want to let anything ruin his chance in the draft.

But he still couldn’t completely halt the occasional relapse when he was surrounded by things that just brought him down. As he reverted back to his ninth and tenth grade habit of sleeping less than three hours a night, he’d felt guilty and miserable stumbling along the halls in a zombie-like stupor.

Spencer had been mad when he’d walked into school the Monday before Thanksgiving, after he had received a garbled text message the night before at 4am, which Ryan only vaguely remembered sending. Ryan had already started to develop the characteristic bags that had been a permanent facial feature for the last year.

He’d decided to avoid texting Spencer until he got back from thanksgiving just to avoid being chewed out again. He’d texted Tom mainly, as Tom slept just about as little as Ryan did. He had texted Z too, but her family was even more over the top about Thanksgiving than his own.

As his team left the changeroom to run around the arena, Ryan trailed behind Jon and Spencer as they talked amicably despite the running. He focussed on his breathing and his legs, but his thoughts wandered. He didn’t want to think about the miserable fourteen hours he’d spent in the car with his father, to and from Quebec City. Although he hated Urie, his little hissy fit on Twitter had provided a much needed distraction from the clipped French exchanged between him and his father as they drove along the Trans-Canada highway.

Thanksgiving had been just as expected. His older relatives asked about hockey, school and his girlfriend. His grandmother had been disappointed to hear that he and Keltie had broken up, but Ryan had just shrugged it off. Like he would tell his devout Catholic grandmother he’d rather be sucking dick.

His cousins had showed up Saturday afternoon from Montreal after Ryan had spent an excruciating amount of time talking to his grandparents and his matante and mononc’, and pretending his father wasn’t off getting sloshed somewhere. They hadn’t made it better, finding everything to criticize Ryan about from his accent to his clothing and hair as they munched on cookies his grandmother had made. They were loud and arrogant as they chatted about girls, sex and, of course, hockey. Ryan had secluded himself to his phone and his friends at home as he felt more isolated from his cousins than ever before.

The only good thing about his cousins was that they knew where to get alcohol in Quebec, which Ryan regretted when he’d been dragged out to church the next morning. His father never bothered normally, and Ryan wasn’t religious but it was all part of the stupid family tradition Ryan couldn’t wait to get away from when he moved out.

And then Thanksgiving dinner- Ryan shook thoughts of an overturned table, his horrified relatives and his father’s red face out of his head as Urie jogged past him. Ryan had fallen behind Spencer and Jon, who led the pack of teenaged boys up a flight of stairs, although he wasn’t at the back just yet.

He allowed himself the opportunity to check out the others in front of him. As a gay boy surrounded by athletic boys on all sides he might as well take advantage of the situation, he thought sullenly. 

He admired their sculpted backs and calves, as their muscles strained and contracted. Jesus, this was ridiculous he’d seen most of these guys naked and wow that thought didn’t improve the situation at all. Goddamn that hockey ass. He even allowed Urie a glance and was actually surprised when he realized Urie had a really nice ass. Wow that was unfair. Bad people didn’t deserve nice asses.

“Hey Ross!” Urie called behind him and Ryan’s eyes were drawn reluctantly away from his backside to his face. “Out of shape or something?”

Ryan didn’t say anything but he increased his pace so that he was running next to the other boy.

Urie huffed loudly at Ryan’s quiet challenge.

“Getting out of breath Urie?” Ryan scolded. “You’ll never make it to the NHL with that kind of stamina.”

Anger gleamed in Urie’s eyes, not wild and bright like usual, but cold and unforgiving. It threw Ryan off balance, not getting the reaction he’d intended, and he let Urie pass him briefly. Urie’s lead didn’t last long though and as Ryan caught up the two sized each other up. Neither were sprinting yet but already they were running faster than was usually recommended for a warmup, passing their teammates and catching up to Spencer and Jon in the front. Several of their teammates stared at them as they passed but nobody made a comment.

Their warmup was almost finished so Ryan made the rash decision to force them both into a sprint. In his head beating Urie was somehow more important than performing well in a varsity season game.

As he and Urie zoomed past Spencer and Jon, Ryan could feel Spencer giving him The Look. Of course Spencer disapproved but admitting defeat and letting Urie win at this point wasn’t worth it. His breathing was coming quicker already.

They rounded the final corner of arena, their feet slamming against the asphalt of the parking lot. Their team had fallen far behind them and were making no attempts to catch up and Ryan didn’t blame them. He was definitely going to regret this during the game. Next to him he could hear Urie’s breath getting ragged and he didn’t feel so bad about it if it meant Urie was going to be exhausted too.

They reached the front door of the arena and both of them slowed to a stop. There had been no discernable winner and two out-of-breath losers.

Ryan bent over, his hands resting on his knees and tried to return his breathing to normal as Urie slumped on the curb in front of the door.

“You’re such a prick Ross,” Brendon wheezed.

“You started it,” Ryan shot back through laboured breaths.

They waited in silence at the door for their bemused teammates to catch up with them. When Spencer jogged over to them he smacked the back of Ryan’s head.

“What did I tell you?” he said angrily.

“I didn’t fight him!” Ryan protested.

“You’re an idiot,” Spencer said plainly, and glared at Urie who was still sitting down. 

Jon looked uncomfortably between Spencer, Ryan and Brendon, not wanting to get involved but feeling involved nonetheless. He instead took control of the warmup, leading them all back to the changeroom for stretches.

Soon they were all geared up and ready to go. Mr. Saporta gave them a few words of encouragement and they headed towards the ice pad. Once the zamboni was off, the two school teams shot out on the ice to do their pre-game skate. 

When the buzzer sounded, they cleared the pucks off the ice and the team reconvened with the coaches one last time before the game started. Then Ryan took his spot at first line centre with Alex on his right and Urie on his left.

The first period was uneventful, although the other team scored on Spencer when the second line was on. Ryan was determined to not let the team lose because he knew that Spencer would blame himself like he always did. However by the middle of the second half another goal had been scored on them and Ryan was feeling frustrated and antsy. He and Urie just weren’t compatible hockey players and their first line was hardly making any progress against the other team. Exhausting each other right before the game had been a bad plan.

Finally Dan managed to get the puck out of their end and as Alex brought the puck up along beside him Ryan began to feel that familiar rush of excitement. They were gonna score for sure this time.

Alex got cornered by one of the other team’s forwards and he quickly passed the puck to Ryan. Ryan prepared to take the shot as the defenders charged him. Urie was off to his side but Ryan was sure he could get the goal.

He heard a garbled “Ryan!” from Urie’s direction just before the defender checked him. He teetered to the side and tried to regain balance but it was too late. The defender had taken the puck up and Ryan watched numbly as the team scored another goal on Spencer. 

It was all his fault.

His coach called his line off the ice and Ryan reluctantly skated to the bench.

He’d barely sat down before Urie started at him.

“What the fuck Ross,” he said angrily. “I was right there, I was open, you were flanked. You should have passed to me.”

“Fuck off,” Ryan spat.

“That goal was your fault, asshole. I could have scored! Why don’t you trust me with the puck?” Urie argued. “I’m on your fucking team!” 

“Leave me the fuck alone!” Ryan whined.

Urie haughty expression made Ryan lip curl into a snarl.

“That’s so fucking typical, Ross,” Urie said and looked away angrily. “I can’t rely on fags like you two to do anything for this team.” he jerked his shoulder in the direction of Ryan and Alex.

It was like Urie had dropped a bomb. Ryan’s vision turned red and he gritted his teeth against his mouthguard. Like that asshole had any right to speak to him like that. To say shit like that to him as if he owned that word. 

“What the fuck did you just call me,” he said, venom dripping from his voice.

Urie looked up quickly, his eyes widening in sudden realization at the comment he had just made. But it was too late. It had been said.

Ryan grabbed Urie’s arm and tossed him off the bench behind them. His equipment protected him but he still swore loudly as he hit the ground. The team and coaching staff sat in frozen shock as Ryan threw himself over the bench after Brendon and the two began struggling against each other amidst shoutings of “Get off me, you crazy asshole!” and “Don’t you ever say that word in my fucking prescence again or you die!”

Referees were blowing whistles but it was Jon and Mr. Saporta who finally got the two separated. Jon was holding Brendon back as Mr. Saporta pulled Ryan off of him. Off to the side Mr. Beckett was watching the scene, clearly terrified.

As Ryan struggled to his feet, around him the gameplay had stopped. The referees had all skated over to the Bull’s bench. Ryan was going to get kicked out for this. He didn’t care.

Mr. Saporta shot him a look that clearly meant ‘Don’t start anything else’ and went over to talk to the referees with Mr. Beckett. Ryan didn’t intend to start anything further though. He’d said what he’d needed to. He’d made his point.

His teachers talked to the center ref for a minute before the ref made the call. Mr. Beckett and Mr. Saporta were in a disagreement about something but Ryan didn’t bother to strain his ears for it. He just wanted to leave.

As he and Urie skated across the ice, the players on the other team laughed.

“Did you forget which player was on your team?” one taunted.

“Thanks for taking out your best players for us!” another called.

Ryan didn’t even bother to engage with them. Urie didn’t either, just slunked after Ryan to the changeroom.

It occurred to Ryan that he’d be alone in the changeroom with Urie. He could have a second go at beating him up. And nobody had to know.

He let that pleasant thought carry him all the way to the changeroom. His bag was on the other side of the room from Urie’s just the way it had been since they’d both made the varsity team. The further away from Urie, the better Ryan’s life was.

He pulled off his jersey, and then worked at getting his neckguard and shoulder pads off. The changeroom was silent in both sound and atmosphere. Ryan could unconsciously feel himself taking lighter breaths of air from heavy tension.

He had to face Urie when he sat down to untie his skates, but he didn’t look at him. He didn’t want to ever have to acknowledge him ever again.

Once he’d gotten his skates off, he heard the sound of skates against rubber, coming towards him. His whole body stiffened in anticipation.

“Ross,” Urie said quietly. Ryan refused to look up.

They waited, neither moving. Ryan stared intently at the floor and willed Urie is walk back to his seat and out of his life forever.

“Ryan,” Brendon said this time and Ryan flinched at the sound of first name being spoken outloud. 

He took a deep breath, “Listen Ryan, I’m sorry I said all those things about you. I shouldn’t have.”

Ryan looked up in surprise. The last thing he had expected was an apology.

“I-” Brendon hesitated. “I was just mad and I shouldn’t have called you a fag.”

Brendon looked forlorn and guilty, his face pale. His apology seemed genuine, though Ryan couldn’t imagine what had prompted it.

“Yeah, sure I guess,” Ryan mumbled, unsure of how to respond. Apologies felt like forbidden territory when it came to him and Urie.

Brendon looked hopeful for a second but when Ryan made no move toward further reconciliation he closed himself off again.

“Don’t expect this to happen again, Ross,” he said angrily, and turned away. “I just felt I shouldn’t have said any of that with us being on the same team.”

Ryan felt his anger return. He rose to his feet, his fists clenched.

“Would calling me a fag have been appropriate in another situation?” he said coldly.

Urie paused. 

“No,” he said finally. “I shouldn’t have said it at all.”

Ryan’s anger left his body as if he’d just dropped his hockey bag to the floor. He sat down on the bench again to finish taking off his equipment, all the while eyeing Urie warily. It was almost as if the two had come to an understanding, however miniscule. Ryan knew he and Urie would never be friends but maybe they didn’t need to fight all the time anymore. It was a relief.

 

*       *       *

When Ryan walked into English class the next morning, Urie was already sitting in his seat behind Ryan’s. He looked up when Ryan approached but made no other acknowledgement of the his arrival. It felt calm.

From his desk at the front, Mr. Beckett watched the two carefully. Although there was no friendliness between them, the hostility and aggression was gone. 

Spencer walked in shortly after, smiling brightly.

“Good morning!” he said as he sat down.

“What’s up with you?” Ryan asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Spencer said conspiratorially, the cheerful glint in his eye ever present.

Ryan shrugged. If Spencer wanted to be secretive, Ryan wasn’t gonna press him.

The music started playing over the PA and Ryan groaned at Jon’s music pick of the day. Jon had confided in him awhile ago that he was intentionally picking the cringiest songs he could think of. Ryan could appreciate his dedication to the cause even if he didn’t appreciate hearing Everytime We Touch at 8:30 in the morning.

Ryan turned around to look at Urie, who was usually bobbing along to whatever atrocious song Jon had picked that day but even he seemed unhappy with the music choice. The bell rang soon and Ryan was relieved from the torture of listening to German dance music. 

Jon’s voice rang out over the announcements, but even if Ryan did consider Jon his friend, he didn’t believe that he had to subject himself to the morning announcements as payment for that friendship. Besides Jon always told him anything that might be important to him in first period anyway.

Mr. Beckett finished the attendance during announcements and called the class to order quickly.

“Since we finished Macbeth yesterday we’re moving on to the first major assignment associated with it,” he said.

The class groaned but Mr. Beckett kept his dignity and ignored them.

“It’s a group project,” he continued. “I’ve picked the groups for you, however we’ll get to that later.”

Another groan. Assigned groups were the worst.

“The project itself is fairly simple,” Mr. Beckett said, handing out rubrics and assignment overviews for each row to pass back. “Your groups will be making a media presentation about either an act or a theme in Macbeth. I’ll let the groups pick what they want to do.”

Ryan sighed. This project was already looking worse than the French presentation he’d had to do with Urie. Media presentations weren’t his forte, he preferred essays and creative writing projects. His mark would rest on the skills of whoever Mr. Beckett chose to put in his group.

Mr. Beckett pulled out a list on his desk and frowned at it, as if he wasn’t totally happy with the groups he was assigning. He began to read them off. 

“Group two: Ryan Ross, Spencer Smith, Brendon Urie and Jon Walker.”

Ryan was immediately torn between feeling ecstatic about being in a group with two of his best friends and feeling annoyed at being put in a group with his worst enemy. A look back at Brendon showed a similar reaction on his face to what Ryan imagined his own looked like.

Jon walked into the classroom then, waving to Mr. Beckett as he entered. Mr. Beckett nodded to him and finished reading off the groups.

The he said, “Alright you have the rest of the class to work on the project. We’ll start presentations next Thursday. Disperse.”

Jon yawned, and looked at the papers on his desk, “So what did I miss?”

“We’re doing a Macbeth project together,” Spencer said. “You can read the overview yourself, you know.”

Jon grinned, “Yeah, I could.But you’re gonna explain it to me anyway.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and started telling Jon about the project. Ryan watched as Brendon reached into his bag and pulled out a copy of the Macbeth script. He started flipping through it, and Ryan turned away.

Once Jon was briefed on the project, he took immediate control, aware that they were walking on thin ice with both Ryan and Brendon in the group.

“So I’m a pretty good video editor, and I have a good camera,” he said. “We can film at my house if you guys want.”

“Who said we’re doing a movie?” Ryan asked.

Jon gave him a pointed look, “Ryan we’re making a movie, who makes something other than a movie for a media project?”

Ryan conceded to that.

Brendon decided to speak up, “Can we do Act 2?” he asked. “It’s my favourite.”

“It’s a good act,” Spencer agreed.

“What happens in it again?” Jon asked.

Before Urie could explain, Ryan cut him off, “It’s the one where Macbeth and Lady Macbeth murder the king.”

“Oh yeah. That one.”

Urie glared at Ryan, “Got a problem with my choice?”

“Surprisingly, no. It’s got some good scenes. Someone should tell Mr. Beckett which scene we picked so that we get it before anyone else,” the way Ryan said it made it obvious he wasn’t going to.

Urie grumbled but he stood up and walked over to the teacher’s desk.

Jon, Spencer and Ryan took the opportunity to discuss the situation.

“This is not going to work,” Spencer said firmly. “Ryan and Brendon are going to kill each other.”

Jon shook his head, “Brendon’s a nice guy, I’m sure we can all be friendly.”

Spencer snorted, “Unlikely. They can’t even play nice when they’re on the same team.”

“I’ll play nice if he does,” Ryan amended.

Spencer was incredulous, “If the threat of the ruin of both of your hockey careers isn’t enough to stop you, than I doubt an eleventh grade English assignment will.”

Ryan glanced at Urie who was still talking to Mr. Beckett. Whatever Mr. Beckett was telling Urie was making him fidget more than usual, if that was possible.

“Hockey and school aren’t the same,” Ryan said. “In hockey you’re encouraged to be aggressive. I have no problem with him off ice.”

“Yeah, except that you hate him,” Spencer said.

“Aw man, you don’t hate him do you Ryan?” Jon asked.

“Hate who?” Brendon asked coming up behind Ryan. “Me? Oh, don’t worry about that. Ross hates me like it’s his career.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Jon assured him.

“Yeah, okay Jon,” Spencer said sarcastically.

Ryan groaned, “Can we just get this project done and over with? Did Mr. Beckett say anything useful to you?”

Maybe it was Ryan’s imagination but Brendon’s face flushed, “Um, it was nothing important. Just something else.”

“Alright then,” Ryan said and opened his notebook to a blank page. “We can go over characters and plot stuff in a minute, but we gotta figure out when we can meet to do the filming first.”

Jon put his hands up in mock defense, “Hey, I don’t do anything! It’s your hockey schedules we gotta work around.”

“I can’t do anything on Sundays,” Urie said quietly.

“What, do you have church or something?” Ryan mocked, already writing down characters in his notebook.

Urie scowled, “None of your fucking business, Ross.”

Jon interjected before Ryan could respond, “Okay, so Sunday is out. What other days are you free?”

“Well I don’t want to get up before eleven if I don’t have to,” Spencer said. “So weekend mornings are out.”

“I think we have practice Saturday afternoon anyway,” Ryan said.

“What about Friday?” Jon said desperately.

Ryan and Spencer stared at each other.

“Well, I guess Friday works,” Spencer said regretfully.

“I’m free on Friday too,” Urie said.

“Great, so Friday at my house, right after school,” Jon said.

The other three nodded.

“So I’ll write the script,” Ryan said.

“No way,” Urie jumped in. “I’m writing the script.”

Ryan glared at him, “Aren’t you like, illiterate?”

“Oh ha ha, very funny Ross,” Urie grumbled. “As if I’d ever read a script you wrote ever again.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ryan shot back. “Got a problem with my writing?”

“Yeah, it’s shit,” Urie said.

“Calm down guys,” Jon mediated. “I have a solution: you both write the script together.”

“No,” Ryan and Urie both responded immediately.

“I said this wasn’t gonna work,” Spencer said, and glanced knowingly at Jon. Jon let out a frustrated sigh.

“Is there a problem, Brendon?” Mr. Beckett called from the front of the class. “Remember what we talked about.”

Urie cringed. “No problem, sir,” he replied stiffly.

“’No problem, sir,’” Ryan mocked quietly.

Spencer elbowed him in the gut while Urie glared at him.

They sat silently as Urie stared guiltily at their teacher, as if deciding what to do.

“Alright,” he said finally. “You can write the script as long as I get to be Lady Macbeth.”

Ryan snorted and pencilled Urie’s name onto the lined paper in front of him.

“No arguments from me,” he said. “Got something you want to tell us, Urie?”

“Ryan, please,” Spencer hissed.

“Only if you go first, Ross,” Urie said sweetly.

“No comment,” Ryan replied. “So Urie tell us; what prompted you to pick the only female character in the whole scene if not the irresistible need to wear a dress?”

Urie took a deep breath, and seemed to be counting before he responded, “Isn’t it obvious? Lady Macbeth is the only character who isn’t a fucking pussy in this scene. She’s the real evil character, you know? She’s not scared like Macbeth, and she doesn’t run away like the Princes and she doesn’t get murdered. She does what she needs to make her husband King.”

Then he grinned, “Plus I’m the only one of us with the hips for it.”

Well, Ryan certainly couldn’t argue with that one after checking out Urie’s ass the day before.

“Well, I don’t want a big speaking role,” Jon said. “I’m happier behind the camera.”

“Yeah, I can’t act for shit,” Spencer added. “So I want a small role too.”

Ryan sighed, “Are you guys seriously making me Macbeth?”

“I’ll play Macbeth too,” Urie said. “But then all the class will just be thinking about the fact that I fucked myself in a dress.”

“Aren’t you witty today?” Ryan sneered. “Won’t they be thinking about the fact that I fucked you in a dress?”

“Well, that’s the idea, isn’t it?” Urie said leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “I mean, most people think you’re gay anyway.”

“Brendon, why would people be thinking about you guys having sex anyway?” Jon asked.

“Macbeth and Lady Macbeth are evil right? I just figure evil people have sex a lot,” Urie shrugged. “Like moral depravity and all that.”

“Wow, that’s a big word,” Ryan observed. “Learn that at church too?”

“Oh my god, Ryan,” Spencer interrupted. “Shut the fuck up! What happened to ‘playing nice’?”

Ryan narrowed his eyes, “I remembered how much of a bastard he is.”

“He hasn’t even done anything! He’s just sitting there making bad jokes!” Spencer rubbed his temple. “God, you both give me a headache.”

Jon laughed, “You’re like a mom.”

“I am not!” Spencer protested. “Besides, my children will be way prettier than these two knuckleheads.”

“What a terrible thought,” Urie muttered.

“What, us being related?” Ryan asked.

Urie shuddered, “Yes.”

Ryan was inclined to agree. Seeing Urie because of hockey and school was bad enough. He didn’t want to imagine living with the guy.

Mr. Saporta walked into the room unannounced. 

“Bill, do you have a stapler I can borrow? I can’t find mine,” he asked. Ryan couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to be looking to where Ryan and Urie were working on the stupid fucking project. 

“Yeah, sure, it’s in my office,” Mr. Beckett replied. As the pair left the room, Ryan noticed a stapler on Mr. Beckett’s desk. They’d probably realize and come back for it.

The bell rang and there was still no trace of either. The others prepared to leave.

“Remember, my house on Friday,” Jon said.

“Got it,” Urie said, then swung his backpack over his shoulder and left. Spencer was close behind him.

“Oh, hey Ryan?” Jon said. “You still up for coming to my practice tonight after school?”

“Yeah, of course,” Ryan said. “I just need a ride.”

“No problem,” Jon said. “I’ve got you.”

Ryan smiled, “See you later then.”

“Yeah!” Jon grinned. “Hey Spencer, wait for me!”

He dashed off after Spencer and out of the classroom. Ryan pulled out his notebook for Writer’s Craft and waited excitedly for the rest of the day.

It passed by quickly and despite being loaded down with homework, Ryan still got on the bus with a light step and a feeling of anticipation. Nobody was home when he got there, but someone rarely was, so Ryan dumped his books on the chesterfield and started to peruse them lazily.  

An hour later, Ryan heard his doorbell ring and smiled. It was probably Jon and Spencer there to pick him up for the houseleague practice they had agreed to attend.

He stood up off of his couch and walked to the door, swinging it open to reveal a distraught looking Jon Walker, hockey bag slung over his shoulder. Spencer wasn’t there. Why wasn’t Spencer there?

“Hey Jon!” Ryan smiled, trying to be as kind as possible because it was a rare occasion to see the king of love and happiness himself look so upset. 

“Hey,” he replied quietly. This was weird. 

“I just gotta grab my hockey equipment, come in if you want,” Ryan said. Jon dropped his hockey bag on the porch, then walked through the doorstep and kicked off his shoes. Ryan walked over to his garage door and pulled it open.

“Hey, is it okay if I sit here?” he heard Jon ask from what sounded like the living room.

“Go ahead,” Ryan replied. He really wondered why Jon was being so weird. He especially wondered if it had something to do with Spencer’s absence. 

Ryan pulled his hockey bag out of the garage and threw it into his mudroom. Luckily for him, Jon’s houseleague arena was only a few minutes of a walk from his house, so he could definitely handle the trek with his bag. 

“Is Spencer meeting us there?” Ryan called out. Jon said something but it was muffled, and he couldn’t hear it. 

Ryan walked into the minimally decorated living room to find Jon absentmindedly typing something on his phone. 

“What?” Ryan asked for clarification.

“Spencer’s not coming,” Jon sighed. “Let’s go.”

“Whoa, whoa, what do you mean Spencer’s not coming? That bastard roped me into this!” Ryan tried to joke with Jon, but he still looked crestfallen. 

“He’s not coming,” Jon repeated, and stood up off of the couch.

“Well, why the fuck not?” Ryan asked. He would probably kill Spencer later. Probably.

“His new girlfriend is more important than his friends, apparently,” Jon replied, looking anywhere but Ryan’s face. 

Spencer had a girlfriend? What the fuck? Ryan and Spencer had been best friends since they were eight; there was no way in hell that Spencer wouldn’t tell him something like that. 

“Wait, what?” Ryan asked. He was completely baffled as to why Spencer wouldn’t have shared news like that with him. 

“Spencer and Linda are on a date right now. He didn’t tell me until like, five minutes before he was supposed to pick me up,” Jon said, beginning to walk back to the front door.

“He never told me that he and Linda had started dating,” Ryan thought aloud. Jon stopped and turned around.

“Yeah, don’t flatter yourself,” Jon snapped. Ryan wasn’t used to Jon acting like this at all. “He didn’t tell me until he needed to cancel on me.”

The two froze for a moment. 

“Can we just go? Please?” Jon broke the silence. Ryan nodded and walked to pick up his hockey bag. 

The walk to the arena wasn’t long, but it was certainly cold. Ryan tried to distract Jon by talking about other things. He felt pretty shitty himself about the whole Spencer-Linda situation, but Jon was obviously much more affected. 

He knew Jon was from Boston, so he tried bringing up the Bruins. Jon smiled and the two had a conversation about how each of their respective teams were playing that season. Ryan was a die-hard Canadiens fan, which made for an interesting conversation with a Bruins fan. He could only imagine how Jon managed to carry on a civil conversation with Spencer, a diehard Leafs fan. 

When they got to the arena, Ryan definitely remembered it from when he had been a young child. This was where he played Timbits.

“Look familiar?” Jon asked. 

“Yeah, how’d you know?” Ryan replied in question. 

“We were on the same Timbits team,” Jon smiled, walking towards the board that had all of the dressing room numbers on it. Ryan didn’t remember ever being on a hockey team with Jon, but hey, if they were, that was cool.

As he followed Jon into the dressing room, he tried to keep his mood up but the old arena just brought memories of a much happier version of himself and the mischievous grin of a dark haired boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sloshed- drunk


	8. A Sexy Lumberjack is no Fit for Erik Karlsson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, it's nic and i'm taking a break from the unanimous "we" to make a personal apology. up until this point bella and i have been neglecting to include any serious discussion or even mention of the incredible amounts of homophobia in hockey culture. we've had a lot of reasons for doing this but have ultimately decided that it's something we're going to be addressing much more directly from this point on. i'm reworking the previous chapters a bit to accommodate this as well. we felt that if we ignored it any longer then all of you, the readers, would be missing an important piece of context to our characters behaviours. so i want to apologize because the homophobia in this fic will get worse. so fair warning and please don't keep reading if you feel uncomfortable. keeping yourself safe is more important to us than your views and kudos. please comment or message us on twitter if you have questions or concerns.  
> with that finished, on to this chapter's music. it's the theme song from the canadian sitcom Corner Gas called [My Happy Place](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x4Tbg6C_dLk) by canadian group The Odds. you'll see why it's relevant.

Brendon had expected his first high school party to be just a bit more exciting. The house was filled with eleventh graders dressed in costume, and by costume, he meant girls wearing the most minimal amount of clothing possible and almost every boy wearing a hockey jersey. Brendon was guilty of the same crime, his Erik Karlsson jersey draping over his bony shoulders. He was wearing his usual ripped black skinny jeans; it wasn’t like he was going to wear sweats to a party. 

He was sitting alone on a leather chesterfield in what must’ve been the living room. The TV was on, playing reruns of  _ Corner Gas.  _ Brendon had seen this episode before. Lacey and Brent almost hooked up but some farmer interrupted them. Stupid fucks. Anyone in their right mind would’ve just done it in the back of the car, not wait 8 hours to not even kiss. 

He brought the red solo cup in his left hand up to his lips and sipped a little bit of the hard ginger ale it contained. It tasted pretty much the same as the regular variation, and had very little chance of getting him intoxicated. He couldn’t come home drunk. He was barely allowed to go out tonight, let alone go to a real high school party with drinking and drugs and sex. 

Ryan, Spencer, and Jon were all at this party. He’d seen Spencer and Jon earlier, Spencer was in a white and black striped sweater and black sweatpants, probably couldn’t find a costume and threw together something to make him look like a ref. Jon was in a Boston Bruins jersey. Gross. He hadn’t seen Ryan yet, but he knew he was there. And it certainly wasn’t because he was looking at Ryan’s twitter today, and definitely not because Ryan had tweeted the address and Brendon probably wouldn’t have known about the party otherwise. 

He checked Ryan’s twitter a lot. He thought about Ryan a lot. It wasn’t a big deal, he had to make sure Ross wasn’t saying shit about him while they worked on their English project. He hadn’t, but with all the bickering they’d done (Ryan had even argued over the dress Brendon had picked) it wasn’t unreasonable of him to believe that Ryan might vague him. Although, Brendon did have to admit that Ryan’s perfectionism had merits; it has gotten them all a 95% on the project.

He stared at the empty glow of the screen, the lame dialogue from the mid-2000s boring him. He pulled his phone out. 5 notifications from Dallon. He wasn’t really in the mood to open that conversation. It was 11:30, and he was already considering leaving. Maybe partying just wasn’t his scene. After all, hockey always came first. 

He felt the couch dip on the right hand side, warmth beside him. He turned his head to see an unshaven Ryan Ross, dressed as a lumberjack. A toque covered his flow, his face looking more mature. He had a crimson flannel on with the top two buttons undone, leaving little to the imagination. Leave it to Ross to use Halloween as an excuse to look like a total slut. He sipped on the can of Molson Canadian in his hand.

“Uh, what are you doing here?” Brendon asked softly. He felt genuinely confused. He and Ryan hadn’t spoken to each other since they had presented their Macbeth project earlier that week. 

“Y’know, I saw ya sittin’ here, all alone, and I fel’ kinda bad for ya,” his speech was clearly slurred, and his voice sounded strange, different from usual. It was nasally and all the vowels sounded rounder. He was definitely drunk.

“I don’t need your fucking pity, Ross,” he hissed. Ross put his arm around Brendon’s shoulder, then took a long swig out of the Molson. 

“C’mon bro! Call m’Ryan!” he slurred. “Y’know, I’ve been too hard on ya! Actually, considerin’ the jersey yer wearing right now, maybe not,” then proceeded to ruffle Brendon’s hair. What the literal fuck was happening. 

“Um, can I help you with something?” Brendon asked.   
“Nah, this is the bes’ seat in Tom’s house though! Y’got good taste,” Ryan smiled. Brendon had heard how white girls acted when they were drunk in bathrooms, and he was pretty sure that this was it. 

“Thanks?” Brendon quirked his eyebrow. “Are you alright?”

“Jus’ havin’ a good time! Don’ y’ever let loose a lil’?” Ryan asked.

Brendon was just a little bit too embarrassed to admit that he didn’t. He didn’t think Ryan knew that the Uries were the only mormon family east of Alberta, which was where he was from originally. Brendon certainly didn’t know where Ryan was from. Was he born in Toronto or was he from somewhere else? What was his family like? Brendon was curious about so much to do with Ryan, the ominous, sexy lumberjack pressed up against his side. 

“Wha’ a fuckin’ awful episode this is, I use t’watch this show all the time when I was young,” he said. Wait, Brendon wasn’t the only one whose childhood guilty pleasure was the awful adventures of a bunch of people living in rural Saskatchewan? Huh. 

“Ha, yeah,” Brendon began to loosen up a little. There was no harm in talking to a drunk Ryan Ross. “I used to watch this all of the time as a kid too.”

Ross took another long sip of the beer. 

“I knew it! We had t’have somethin’ in common,” he smiled. Brendon liked Ross’s smile. It looked better with the little bit of stubble around his face. Brendon wondered if this was just a choice to match his lumberjack costume, or a permanent fix. 

“Yeah?” he asked. 

“Of course! I mean, we couldn’ve been best friends in timbits for n’reason,” Brendon’s stomach dropped. Brendon had thought Ryan had forgotten. It always seemed like it. After all, he never did show up to Brendon’s party all those years ago… Brendon didn’t think about that anymore. At least, he thought he had forgotten about it. And he thought Ross had too. He thought Ross had definitely forgotten about all of their post-game slushies, the goals scored at the fault of the other, and that stupid, stupid ribbon. But maybe, just maybe, Ross thought about it from time to time too. Maybe Ross remembered that Brendon always used to mix all of the slushie flavours because he was too indecisive to choose just one. Maybe Ross remembered the deal the two of them had, whenever there was an opportunity, they would be pass it to the other. And maybe, just maybe, Ross still had his half of that MVP medal. Maybe he didn’t let go.

“You remember that?” Brendon asked hopefully, expecting Ryan to spill at least a little.    
“Yeah,” he replied, sipping back the bottle of beer in his hand. One word. Four letters. That was all nine years of hatred could get him? 

They sat in silence for a moment, watching the TV show. Ryan laughed at some really lame joke, Brendon smiled a little bit. Was this what hope felt like? Maybe, just maybe, they could go back to the dream team they were all of those years ago. Maybe. 

Brendon tested the waters, tilted his head to the right and allowed it to rest onto Ryan’s shoulder. He looked upwards tentatively, Ryan was looking down at him with a quirked eyebrow. Ryan probably thought that this was weird, Brendon felt bad. Then, to Brendon’s surprise,  Ryan’s face turned from one of confusion into one that Brendon couldn’t quite read. Ryan then leaned his head onto Brendon’s . 

Brendon smiled. There was a soft warmth that radiated through his chest and through his body. Who knew that he’d find happiness in a boy wearing a half-undone flannel, holding an almost empty bottle of Molson Canadian, and whose stubble was scratching against his forehead? There was some kind of truce formed between them in that moment, this unspoken promise that neither of them would turn and hit the other with either words or fists. Everything was a soft, hazy glow. Reality didn’t seem so real.

Tom, the host of the party, interrupted. Ryan pulled away from Brendon, who felt crestfallen after losing the warmth that was radiating between the two of them. 

“Tom! Assah man!” Ryan asked, leaning forward and he gazed at Tom intently, a strange look in his eyes.

Tom’s long black hair was starting to fall out of the snapback he was wearing, onto his hawaiian t-shirt. Did he really dress up as a hipster for Halloween? Like he didn’t always dress that way. 

“C’mon! What’re you doin’ in here? Come party wi’ the res’ of the Huskies!” Tom was drunk too. He grabbed Ryan’s wrist and pulled him up off of the couch beside Brendon. There went his only chance at making amends with Ryan. His eyes went back to the cheesy episode. 

Maybe that was a sign. Maybe, just maybe, Tom coming and dragging Ryan away from him, was the universe telling him that he and Ryan were forever destined to live in a rut where they weren’t quite sure if they hated each other or not. 

Brendon was left alone to his own thoughts, and calculated that Ross was definitely drunk enough to fuck him. Probably. Brendon hated that he went through this endless cycle of “fuck you, Ryan Ross” to “fuck me, Ryan Ross”. He was a good person. He didn’t deserve this. 

He downed the rest of his hard ginger ale, then considered standing up and getting a mickey of vodka from the kitchen. Who cared if his parents found out anymore? He really didn’t. He was going to get in shit for going to something that celebrated the devil anyways. 

Just as he was about to stand up, a very intoxicated Jon Walker sat down next to him. His eyes were bloodshot, was he high? 

“Bren! Hey man! Wassup!” he exclaimed. Okay, so his speech wasn’t  _ that _ slurred. He couldn’t be that bad off. 

“Uh, not much? You alright?” he asked.

“Oh yeah! S’all good. I’ve jus’ been hanging out with Spence! He went to th’bathroom though and I lost him!” Jon smiled. Jon had a very deep fondness for Spencer. Brendon was kind of happy about it secretly, it meant Spencer and Ryan were spending a lot less time together.

Spencer emerged from a door to what must have been the basement.

“Oh! There he is! Bye Brendon!” and then Jon was off. Brendon was kind of jealous of Jon and Spencer’s friendship. He was jealous of Spencer and Ryan’s friendship. He hadn’t had anything like that since, well, since he was in Timbits with Ryan. He was good friends with the boys on his hockey team, but he hated all of his school friends. And he wasn’t that close with anyone, not really. He didn’t think he’d ever have a bond like Jon and Spencer and Ryan did.. 

He kind of had to use the washroom, so he wandered around the house before finding a closed door that was just small enough to be either a washroom or a walk-in closet. His hand gripped onto the shiny gold doorknob and he turned it to the right and pulled it to open the white door.

He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw what was behind that bathroom door. Tom was sitting on the lid of the toilet seat, Ryan was straddled on top of him. Tom was undoing the already minimal number of buttons Ryan had done up, Tom’s shirt was already off. Ryan’s tongue was down Tom’s throat, and vice versa. Ryan’s hands were running up and down Tom’s chest, tracing every outline of every muscle. Brendon’s jaw dropped, as did the cup in his hand.

The contents spilled on the floor. Ryan’s eyes shot open, looking Brendon in the eyes. He pushed back off of Tom, their lips pulling apart with a loud smack. Ryan stood up and looked as though he had just been caught committing a murder. 

Brendon let out a tiny cough, then slammed the door back shut, pressing his back up against the wall beside the bathroom door and slinking down it. Holy shit. Ryan and Tom? _Ryan and_ _Tom?_ _Tom?_

“What the fuck Tom!? Y’were suppose t’lock the door!” he heard Ryan yell. 

Brendon stood back up onto his feet, almost tripping over them. His whole body felt numb. He took deep breaths as he walked away from that bathroom door as quickly as he possibly could without looking suspicious. Fuck. 

Once he was out of the party, a rush of cold, Canadian air hit his face. The street lights displayed a soft, white glow, and revealed little snowflakes falling through the night sky. The sky was starless, Brendon hadn’t seen a proper starlit sky since he’d been in Edmonton.

He attempted to distract himself from what he had just seen while he took the short walk from Tom’s house to his own. He tried to fill his mind with thoughts of hockey; of plays, of games, of strategy. It had always been his best distraction. But that failed miserably, and his brain would trail back to the twitter fight, to their huge fight they had gotten into on the varsity bench, to every fight they’d ever gotten into on the ice and off.

As he found himself standing in front of his home, he thought back to the first exhibition game. Ryan had looked so good at that game. As he walked up the stoop, he thought maybe it was in that moment, when Brendon had seen Ryan sitting on that bench, when their eyes locked, maybe that was when Ryan had fucked Brendon up. 

“How was youth group, Brendon?” he heard his father’s voice call out. Like Brendon had actually gone to youth group, he had been using it as an excuse to get away from his family for years now. 

“Good,” he responded, very quickly trudging his way up the stairs and into his bedroom. 

He fell backwards onto his bed, red sheets pooling around his body. He stared at the ceiling, and hoping that perhaps, if he thought hard enough, he might be able to feel the warmth of Ryan’s body beside him again. 

Ryan and Tom. Brendon still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Of everyone at that party, why  _ Tom _ ? Why wasn’t Brendon good enough? 

His mind started to trail onto a dangerous train of thought, imagining what exactly Tom and Ryan were doing in that moment. Brendon winced at the idea of Ryan sleeping with the infamous hipster.

Brendon thought that Ryan had been flirting, but he had definitely read those signals wrong. 

The only thing Brendon knew for certain now was that Ryan was definitely into dudes. For sure. And that gave Brendon hope. If Ross and Oakes broke up, Brendon had a shot. 

It certainly didn’t stop Brendon from being insanely jealous. When would this stupid boycrush end? It had been two months. He’d be over it soon. He had to be. 

He pulled off his clothing and crawled underneath several layers of warm, flannel sheets. He pulled the extra pillow in his bed into his body, and fell asleep pretending it was Ryan.

*       *       *

The next morning he awoke to his text tone. He had forgotten to put his phone on mute overnight. He turned over and let out a tiny, sleepy noise, attempting to fall back asleep, but his efforts failed when it went off again. 

It was still black when he looked out the window, with the exception of a few passing cars and streetlights to guide them home. Who the fuck was texting him at this hour?

He groaned and sat up, wiping sleep out of his eyes and stretching. He pulled the covers off of himself, and stood up out of bed to retrieve his phone from the pile of dirty clothes he had left there the day prior. 

When he clicked the home button, he frowned to see two notifications from a number he didn’t have saved. He woke up on a Saturday for this? He looked at the time as well, it was 6:43am. His phone buzzed and binged again, a third notification from the same unknown number. He rolled his eyes and unlocked it, his curiosity getting the better of him.

His heart fell into his stomach when he read  _ Hey this is Ryan Jon gave me your number  _

Holy shit. Why was Ryan texting him? 

_ Listen I know what happened last night looked bad but it was really just Tom and I too drunk to think and it certainly wont be happening again _

Oh. Ryan was the kind of guy to act gay when he was drunk, but return back to the safe grips of heterosexuality while sober. Brendon wasn’t really into the thought of that.

_ Please dont tell anyone about this Brendon its already bad enough with Keltie spreading shit _

Ryan was that desperate? He was actually going to say please to Brendon? It was a moment of vulnerability for Ryan, Brendon supposed. 

_ If you tell anyone I’ll fucking destroy you _

Underneath,  _ Read 6:46am  _ appeared. 

Ryan’s hands were shaking when 12 hours had come and gone, but he still had no response. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assah- what's up? (only ever used by drunk canadian boys)  
> Chesterfield- a couch  
> a Mickey-375ml


	9. MVP: Most Vulnerable Player

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are we sorry for this chapter? not really. friendly reminder that we update every friday, and be sure to check out [Jon's side story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7817440) from last week. all french is in hover text and canadian terminology translated in the end notes. we constantly apologize for the terribleness of quebecois french. don't worry. we know.  
> the song we picked for this week is a traditional french folk song, most often sung to children. it's [V'la l'bon vent](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2aeC2fvYQJc) and we picked the lizzy hoyt cover cus we figured nobody really wants to see the weird kids' cartoon nic was subjected to as a small child.

“Spencer! Mrs. Smith!” Ryan shouted as he realized he had left his spare key inside the house, and his father had already left for the night. But it was no use, the car was already halfway down the street.

The snowfall was heavy that night, the night sky illuminated by a blanket of crystalline snowflakes. It was freezing, no, it was probably below freezing now. It was only November 1st, but usually this kind of weather wouldn’t be around until about a week from now, if that.

He sighed and took a seat on his front steps -the stone was freezing underneath him- but he didn’t really have any other option at this point.

He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. He attempted to turn it on, but the screen remained black. After holding the power button, the flashing empty battery image showed up on the screen. What the fuck? It had been at 16% when he was in the car with Spencer. The freezing cold must have drained his battery. Fuck.

In his mind, he had two options: sit and wait for his dad to come home, that was, if his dad came home at all, or find someone’s house to crash at. He decided to go with the latter. Who would he go to though? Spencer lived a twenty minute walk away, and he had no idea where Jon lived. Tom was about three blocks up the street, but after the Halloween party two days ago? No way in hell was Ryan going to let himself be alone with Tom.

He felt defeated, and decided he would attempt to make it to Spencer’s house. He left his hockey bag in the shed in his backyard, and then began to make the trek across Etobicoke.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a red brick house that he knew he had seen before. He hadn’t had to walk to Spencer’s house in years, but he wondered what about that house stood out to his brain in particular. He had seen the beaten up GM truck sitting in the driveway before. He had definitely, at some point in his life, walked through the brown french-style doors. He knew this house. But he didn’t know why.

His eyes fell on the address marking, and instantly, he knew why exactly he had recognized the house. _The Uries_ hung over the garage door with the number “252” in large script underneath.

The last time he had walked through those doors was for a play date with Urie when the two of them were just little kids. Ryan couldn't really remember much of it, except that Brendon's mom was a really good cook.

Did Ryan really have the nerve to seek refuge at Brendon's house? Especially after Brendon had seen him in such a compromising position, and had never responded to him. Ryan let his laziness win over his pride, and walked up the steps to Urie’s front door.

He rang the doorbell, which played an annoying electronic melody. He was expecting and half hoping that the door would go unanswered, but alas, after a few moments he heard heavy footsteps and the door swung open.

Boyd Urie stood at the door frame, eyeing Ryan warily. He looked almost exactly the same as he had all of those years ago, except now there were small wrinkles around his frown lines and forehead. He had a lot less hair as well.

“May I help you?” he asked, looking confused. Maybe Boyd didn't remember him? It had been a very long time and Ryan certainly looked different.

“Hi, uh, I'm Ryan Ross,” he started. Boyd's eyes widened, and his face went from one of confusion to a smile.

“Oh, Ryan! I haven't seen you since you were this big!” he laughed, making a little motion at knee level. “What can I do for you?”

Shit. Ryan hadn't thought of that. No way was he going to admit what had actually happened. That was embarrassing as fuck.

“I, uh, Brendon and I have a French project due tomorrow, so we, uh, we were planning on pulling an all nighter to finish it?” Ryan lied. That was probably believable. He hoped so at least.

“Hmm, Brendon didn’t tell me,” Mr. Urie responded frowning, then turned around and shouted “Brendon! Ryan’s here for you!”

“Who?” Ryan heard Brendon yell. Oh shit! There was no way in hell that he was gonna get on board with this shitty plan. Ryan heard footsteps running down stairs.

“Ryan Ross,” Brendon’s dad called out.

Urie appeared within Ryan’s field of vision. His blue flannel covered arm ran through his bedhead. He looked as though he had just gotten out of bed, his normal ripped skinny jeans had been exchanged for a pair of salt-and-pepper Roots sweatpants. It was 9pm and Urie was already sleeping? What a hoser.

“What the f-” he began, but then corrected himself, likely because of his father’s presence. “What exactly are you doing here?” he asked, eyes wide and confused.

“I'm here to work on our French project?” Ryan said, trying to make himself believe what he had just told Urie.

“Oh, okay,” Urie replied. Ryan did a double take. What was Urie doing? Was he actually trying to help? What the fuck.

“You boys can go and work in Brendon’s room. We’ll talk about this later Brendon,” Boyd said, and then disappeared into the kitchen. “I don’t want this happening again if I don’t know.”

Urie looked Ryan up and down again, raising an eyebrow. Then he spun on his heel, and began to walk in the opposite direction. Ryan assumed he was supposed to follow. He couldn’t help but notice that Urie ass. It was a _really_ nice ass. His dad probably made him work out constantly.

As they walked up the stairs, Ryan was surprised. The Urie home didn’t seem like one which belonged to a former NHLer and coach. It was a pretty typical single family home, they even had several pictures of the family hanging on the wall beside their staircase.

There was a baby picture of Urie, where he had food all over his face. Ryan would _definitely_ give him shit about that later. There was one that must’ve been Urie’s first day of kindergarten, he was smiling so widely that it looked as though the muscles in his neck were about to snap apart. He had on some pretty fucking ugly clothes on, some blue t-shirt with a white long sleeve underneath, and jeans that were way too big for him. Funny how things had changed.

As they climbed the stairs, Ryan noticed a trend. The further up they got, the older the kids were. It seemed to have ended around age six or seven for most of Urie’s siblings, and Ryan expected it to be about the same for Urie. Ryan almost stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the picture perpendicular to the top step.

It was a candid picture, probably taken by Urie’s mother, of Urie as a young child, sipping on a brownish slushie with the majority of his equipment still on. And who was he looking at? Who was sitting on the bench beside him, slurping on a neon blue slushie? None other than a young Ryan Ross, in a matching hockey jersey and skates. They were both wearing gold medals around their necks, with smiles wider than Ryan had ever remembered smiling. That must’ve been their Timbits Christmas tournament. Ryan barely even remembered it even more, except that he had scored one goal that day, but of course Urie had to have one-upped him and scored a hattrick. Why were they friends back then? Ryan didn’t know. Why hadn’t Urie demanded that picture be taken down? Ryan also didn’t know.

“You coming Ross?” Ryan heard Urie say, and then snapped out of his daze. Ryan looked up to see a very impatient looking Urie standing in the door frame of what must have been his room. Ryan didn’t realize how long he had been staring.

“Uh, yeah,” Ryan replied, and attempted to climb up the last stair, but instead, tripped over his own feet and caught himself on his hands. His mind certainly wasn’t all there.

Urie was laughing his ass off, hands on his knees, crouched into a squat. Apparently someone tripping a little bit was prime humor. Of course, that did make sense, Urie was rather barbaric.

Ryan regained his balance and walked towards where Urie was standing.

“You’re such a fucking klutz, holy fucking shit, Ross. How’d you manage that one?” Urie cackled.

“Haha, very funny,” Ross rolled his eyes, before walking into Urie’s room.

It was themed to match the colours of the Ottawa Senators, with several posters and jerseys around it. Ew. Why the fuck would Urie be a Sens fan? He certainly had no reason to be, his father had won a Stanley Cup with the Penguins, then coached the Oilers. Both were at least decently respectable teams. But the _Senators_? Fucking disgusting. In that moment, Ryan hated him just about as much as he hated Stephen Harper.

“What?” Urie asked, looking at the sour expression on Ryan’s face.

“Fucking figures,” Ryan snarled. “A shit team for a shit person.”

Not his best insult, but it was better than some of the chirps Urie flew.

“Am I really that shitty, considering I opened my home to you in one of the worst fucking blizzards of the year? Trust me, I'm not stupid Ross. I know we don't have a French project due tomorrow, and even if we did, you would've just written the whole thing again and made me fucking insult myself,” Urie glared at him. He had his hands crossed over his chest, and had this look of rage in his eyes. Ryan felt a pang of guilt explode in his stomach. Urie knew what Ryan had done. That wasn't his intention.

“So, Mr. Hot-Shot Ross, what are you really here for? To beg me not to tell anyone about you and Oakes’ sexcapades?” Urie said through gritted teeth. His face looked angry, but also kind of sad? Why the fuck was Urie upset that Ryan was hooking up with Tom? Was he some kind of homophobe or something?

“No,” Ryan replied. Urie’s expression shifted, the disappointment in his face had disappeared.

“Then what the fuck, Ross?” Urie asked angrily. He looked very confused.

“Okay, um, so, I kind of- I got locked out of my house,” Ryan admitted. How fucking embarrassing. Urie broke out into hysterical laughter again. Good job, Ross. Tell the fucking tool the real reason you showed up to his house. Smart.

“Oh, man, you’re a real fucking piece of work, aren’t you?” Urie chuckled. He wasn’t wrong, but Ryan still shot him an ugly look.

After what felt like forever, Brendon’s laughter died down and the two were standing face to face, expressionless. Someone would explode soon, Ryan could feel it.

“Why didn’t you just go to Spencer’s house?” Brendon asked, finally breaking the strange silence.

“Because Spencer lives way too far,” Ryan replied dryly.

“How exactly did you know where I lived? Are you _stalking_ me Ross?” Urie teased. Ryan certainly didn’t care enough about Urie to stalk him. Okay, maybe he scrolled through his Twitter all the way back to 2011, but that didn’t count as stalking. It was more like knowing thy enemy than anything else.

“No,” Ryan returned firmly. He didn’t dare tell Urie that he had recognized the home. That would’ve been a suicidal statement. “My phone’s dead, can I borrow a charger?”

“No,” Urie replied cold. Well that was shit. He’d definitely be stuck there all night. That sucked.

They were back to that awkward silence.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Urie announced, and then left the room.

Ryan was glad he was gone. He wasn’t in the mood for that tension. Ryan noticed that Urie had a white trophy case in the far right corner of his room. It was mostly empty. He made his way over to investigate; he felt the need to know what Urie’s greatest triumphs were. They were probably few, as the Hurricanes had the worst GTHL track record.

Ryan was surprised at the number of things Urie had actually won. Most of them were from American tournaments. No surprise, Americans were shittier at hockey than the Hurricanes. There were some trophies from those, the Uries probably kept them considering they had the most involvement in the team and the Hurricanes trophy case never cycled in new accomplishments. Ryan had looked at it a couple of times, and it looked like something out of the 90s.

There were quite a few team MVP awards. Go figure, coach’s kid. Well, Urie wasn’t that bad of a player, comparatively to the rest of his team, he was pretty good. But that didn’t change the fact that he was a coach’s kid and probably got treated with ridiculous amounts of favoritism.

There was one medal that only had a ribbon. The actual medallion was missing.

“Checking out my hardware, Ross?” Urie reentered the room and snickered.

“It’s not that impressive,” Ryan shrugged.

Urie frowned. He seemed disappointed that Ryan wasn’t impressed with his small collection.

“Why doesn’t that one have a medallion?” Ryan pointed out. Brendon’s eyes went extremely wide.

“I dunno,” he grumbled, looking at his feet. “It’s from Timbits or something.”

Wait, was that the medal? The one that Ryan had given Brendon part of after they had scored that goal together? Urie had kept it after all of those years? No fucking way.

Ryan didn’t plan on mentioning it, because mentioning would mean Urie would know he had remembered. He remembered giving Urie part of that medal, he remembered getting slushies after and how Urie used to mix all of the slushie colours together. He remembered his secret handshake with Urie. He could still probably do it today if asked.

Urie probably didn’t remember that. He probably didn’t remember Ryan’s goal. He probably didn’t remember how he used to almost take his father’s eyes out every time he had his skates laced up. He probably didn’t remember Ryan’s mother telling Coach Boyd about Ryan’s father. And there was no way in hell that he remembered inviting Ryan to his birthday party.

*       *       *

“You fucking piece of shit!” Ryan’s mother screamed. Ryan’s tiny head was pounding, as he lay curled up in a ball on top of his Montreal Canadiens sheets.

“If I’m such a piece of shit, why haven’t you left me yet?” Ryan’s dad bellowed back. Ryan hated this. He just wanted his parents to get along, was that so much to ask?

“Maybe I fucking will!” Ryan’s mom yelled back. He heard loud, angry footsteps running up the stairs, and the door to his parents room slamming.

“Danielle! Que c'est tu crisses, tabarnak?!” his father yelled up the stairs. Ryan covered his ears and attempted to ignore the situation.

“Je pars! I’m leaving, like you said!” she replied. He heard drawers opening and closing. She must’ve been packing. This was just another false alarm, Ryan thought. They did this all of the time. They would make up, and his mom would be home. It would be okay. Everything would be okay.

“Where are you gonna fucking go, huh?” Ryan’s dad asked.

“Anywhere but here!” she yelled back, drawers still sliding, feet still dancing across the wooden floors preparing for her permanent departure from Ryan’s life. She wouldn’t go. Ryan wouldn’t let her.

“And what exactly do you plan on doing with Ryan, huh?” Ryan’s father asked. Ryan dreaded the answer. Tears pooled in his eyes, the only thing he could hope for was that his mother would come to his senses and stay.

“I gave birth to him! He’s the only reason I’ve fucking stayed here all this time! He’s going to come with me!” she replied. Ryan wasn’t going anywhere, and he hoped that his peaceful protest of sitting cross-legged on his twin-sized mattress, ignoring his parents, would prove effective.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake Danielle! You’re not actually going to fucking leave! You do this all of the fucking time!” he shouted. Ryan hoped his father was right, for once.

“I am! You’re not ruining my life any fucking longer!” and Ryan heard a suitcase rolling against the wood floor. The door to his room quietly squeaked open.

“Ryan, c’mon. You and I are gonna go for a little bit,” his mother said softly. Ryan’s eyes pooled with tears, his vision going blurry.

She walked closer to Ryan, taking a seat beside him on the bed. Her face was puffy and her eyes were red, she had definitely been crying. That was a bad sign for Ryan, she never cried.

“Ryan,” she sighed, brushing a stray piece of hair out of his face. Ryan stayed silent and stoic; he wouldn’t leave. That way his mother couldn’t leave.

“Ryan, we need to go, now, “ she pleaded with him. Ryan shook his head and let out a tiny sob. She pulled his little body into hers. Ryan could still remember exactly how her heartbeat felt.

“Ryan, please, I don’t want to leave without you,” she breathed. Ryan felt a teardrop fall onto his head.

“Don’t leave,” Ryan sniffled.

“I have to, Ryan.”

“Danielle, crisse-moi pas là!” Ryan’s father yelled. His mother flinched. He hated seeing them fight like this.

“I need to go now, Ryan. Either you come with me today or you stay with your father,” she said. In his young ignorance, Ryan figured that there was no possible way that his mother could leave without him, that she would have to stay, that everything would be okay again.

She stood up and looked back at Ryan with a pained expression. She rolled the suitcase out the door of his room then ran down the stairs and out the door.

“Not gonna take your precious fucking son with you?” Ryan’s father yelled out the door.

The door slammed. Car ignition started. His mother was gone. She would come back though. She had to. She couldn’t leave Ryan alone with his father. She wouldn’t. She loved him too much.

He ignored the sound of the liquor cabinet rattling open. He ignored the fact that his mother was gone, and stood up off of the bed to retrieve a book out of his bookcase.

The Roy McGregor book was almost enough to ignore his father cursing in French, almost enough to forget about his mom.

An hour had passed. He had finished the book, and there was still no sign of his mother. His father was still drinking. He was beginning to get anxious. He was too young to handle his mother leaving. He wouldn’t live alone with his father. That wasn’t an option for him.

So he ran away. Not far of course. His father probably never noticed the quiet footsteps falling down the stairs or the front door squeaking open and closed. He wondered where he could go.

The first thought that came to his mind was the park. He thought he remembered how to get there from the few times he had driven there with his mother previously.

He was wrong, after about five minutes of wandering up and down the streets of Etobicoke, he found himself lost. He sat on the sidewalk in tears. He had never wanted his mother more in his whole life. He wanted someone to take him in, to take him away from his father. Anyone.

He wondered why his mother had left. He never would’ve expected her to be so selfish that she wouldn’t stay for Ryan.

When Ryan looked back at it, he was the one being selfish. He should’ve gone with her. It would be better to be with his mother than his father, and she needed him far more. From time to time, he still wondered where his mother had gone that night. He would probably never know.

He was cold, it was still April, and it was still snowy outside. His running shoes were torn up; his feet were beginning to lose feeling. All that there was to cover his little body was a long sleeved shirt and a pair of roots sweatpants. He should’ve put on a sweater, or a jacket, but he no longer had a mother to remind him of that. She’d come find him sitting cold in the streets. She had to. What kind of mother wouldn’t?

There were no stars in the dark sky to guide him home. He was alone, and he didn’t know his way back to his grey stone house. It wasn’t home. He couldn’t call it that back then, he still couldn’t call it that now.

Luckily for him, a couple walking their dog was walking up the street. Even more luckily for him, it was Boyd and Grace Urie. That was perfect! Ryan could go and live with Brendon and everything would be okay. He’d never have to go back to his father ever again.

If there was ever a time in his life where he actually considered being Catholic like his parents, it was then.

“Ryan?” Mr. Urie asked him.

“Yes!” Ryan replied excitedly, jumping up from the seated position he had previously assumed on the sidewalk.

“What are you doing out here, sweetheart?” Mrs. Urie asked. She had some kind of an accent but Ryan wasn’t sure what it was. Ryan didn’t answer.

The Urie dog, who was probably close to the size of Ryan, started sniffing him and he recoiled back. He then went back and to pet the dog. Ryan had always loved dogs, and sort of resented his father for not allowing him to get one.

“Ryan, are you alright?” Mr. Urie asked. Ryan didn’t answer again. He just kept petting the dog.

He heard Brendon’s parents whispering about something, Brendon’s mother wore an extremely concerned look on her face.

“Sweetheart, you must be freezing,” she sighed. Ryan nodded.

“Here, come with us,” Boyd extended a hand for Ryan. He thought momentarily about all of the stranger danger lessons they had been taught in school, but at this point, Boyd wasn’t a stranger, and he was far too cold to think about anything other than getting into some form of shelter.

Ryan took his hand, and they started walking somewhere, Ryan didn’t know where. He hoped he was going to the Urie’s house, he figured that would be where they were taking him. How cool would it be to live with your best friend? And have a former NHL player as a dad? That would probably be the best. He hoped it would happen.

They walked up the and down the streets, Ryan probably would’ve recognized the location if there was anything other than dimly lit streetlights to guide him. He ensured that as he was walking, he stepped on every single crack in the sidewalk.

He froze in his tracks when he saw his house. Why had they taken him there? Brendon’s dad knew what was happening in Ryan’s family, why, why, why would they ever take him back there?

No. This wasn’t real. Ryan was dreaming. He would wake up the next morning to the sound of his mother’s voice. He had to be dreaming. He couldn’t be living this nightmare.

He didn’t cause a scene or put up a fight when the Uries dragged him up his front steps and rang the doorbell. He certainly couldn’t believe that everything was real when even after noticing Ryan’s father was drunk, they left him there and didn’t even attempt to help. There was a quick explanation of how Boyd had found Ryan, and then they were gone.

No. No, no, no. They couldn’t do this to Ryan. They wouldn’t.

When Ryan awoke the next morning, he frowned at light streaming in through his opened curtains. His mother would always close them before he went to sleep but she hadn’t last night. She had left him. He couldn’t believe that everything was real. He couldn’t hear his mother singing in the shower. His father was still snoring in the next room over. Ryan never wanted to leave his room again.

The red glow of his digital Canadiens themed alarm clock read _10:38_. Brendon’s birthday party had started almost ten minutes ago. Ryan had no way of getting there, and certainly no intent of seeing Brendon’s parents again.

He rolled over and hoped that he could fall back asleep, but it was really no use. He just laid in his bed in a ball, fighting any tears, any kind of emotion.

He heard the phone ringing. Maybe, just maybe, it was his mother telling him that she was coming home, so he bolted out of his bed and ran downstairs, trying hard not to trip over his red flannel pyjama pants which he definitely hadn’t grown into quite yet.

They didn’t have call display, so Ryan just picked up the phone.

“Is Ryan coming today?” Brendon’s voice sounded different on the phone. Ryan stood in still silence for a moment.

“Hello? This is Ryan’s house right?” Brendon asked. Ryan hung up the phone and retreated to his room, which he seldom left until hockey season the next year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Etobicoke- pronounced "ah-toe-bi-coe", it's a suburban part of toronto where all of our characters live  
> Hoser-an insult, equivalent of loser/idiot (do you really not know what this means yet?)  
> Timbits- youngest designation of hockey players. all teams are sponsored by Tim Hortons, thus they're called Timbits


	10. Skate Laces Make an Excellent Substitute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as an apology for last chapter have... well, this. as for right now our publishing schedule remains the same however both of us go back to school next week so that might change things a bit. we'll make sure to keep you updated.  
> this chapter's song is [Ironic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jne9t8sHpUc) by Alanis Morissette.

“Ross,” Brendon was snapping his fingers and clapping his hands. “Hello? Ross? Earth to Ryan Ross?” Brendon had just called him by his first name. Oops. It baffled Brendon; what could such a numbskull be in such deep thought about?

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Ross replied. He seemed to escape the daze he was in. Brendon was close to laughter, but Ross looked like he was close to tears. Brendon probably would’ve felt bad for the guy a couple of weeks ago, before Ross had completely destroyed their beautifully budding friendship. Before Ross had shoved his tongue down Tom’s throat at the Halloween party. That was probably the cause of Urie’s anger, although he would never admit it.

“So,” Brendon started, walking over to take a seat on his bed. He never really finished, never really had another thought after that.

“What, Urie?” Ross glared at him. Brendon definitely wasn’t imagining Ross looking like he was about to cry, his eyes were now glossy and his face was turning red. Brendon thought about making some kind of a snide comment, but then decided against it. If he had any hope of getting Ross to fuck him anytime soon, he needed to stop with the wisecracks. That didn’t mean Brendon still didn’t hate him, though.

“Tissue?” Brendon asked sympathetically, reaching across his bed and pulling a Kleenex out of its container on his nightstand.  He extended his hand out for Ross to take the tissue. Ross raised an eyebrow at him, confused.

“Do you think I’m some kind of pussy? God, Urie,” he snapped back. Brendon decided that kindness was no longer an option. He’d given it a shot, and in all honesty, Ross was one stupid move away from getting kicked out.

“How’s it going up there boys?” Brendon’s dad called out. They both shot each other looks, almost saying to one another “don’t say a thing,”

“Uh, Mr. Urie, there’s a lot of work, I don’t think we’ll be able to get it done very quickly,” Ross replied. Was he about to do what Brendon feared?

“Oh, feel free to stay over then to get it done. I can drive you boys in the morning. Do you want an air mattress?” Brendon’s dad asked.

“Are you fucking kidding me Ross?” Brendon said through gritted teeth. Ryan just shrugged and winked at him. Fuck. Ross had just winked at him.

“That would be so great, thank you, Mr. Urie,” Ross replied, the fake smile audible in his voice.

“No problem, Ryan,” Brendon’s dad said, then returned to whatever he had been doing previously.

Brendon was furious, how dared Ross invite himself to stay over at Brendon’s house without at least buying him dinner first? Or at least the promise of sex that night. Either would suffice as payment for staying over that night.

“What the fuck?” Brendon asked him.

“Listen, as much as I despise you, I’d rather spend the night here than in the streets,” Ryan said.

“Isn’t your dad like, coming home soon? How late can he fucking work?” Brendon asked. Ryan didn’t answer; he just bit his lip and looked down at the ground. Oh,  _ fuck _ . He looked really fucking hot when he did that.

Brendon attempted to ignore his primitive urges in favour of memory of how much he fucking hated Ross. But that was pretty fucking hard when Ross was a few steps away from his bed.

Brendon considered asking Ross the question. The one that had been on his mind since he walked in on Ross and Tom at the Halloween party. Ross owed Brendon at least that much, considering he was kind enough to open his home in this time of crisis.

“So Ross, are you gay?” Brendon asked. It wasn’t an insult, but rather a completely genuine question. Ross’s eyes bulged out of his head when he realized what Brendon had just asked him.

“No! What the fuck, Urie?” Ross responded in frenzy. It’s not like it was an unreasonable question, Brendon was pretty sure he had seen Ross about 30 seconds away from fucking another dude just a couple of days ago.

“Are you bi?”

“No!”

“Pan?”

“No.”

“Straight?”

“N-Yes,” Ross finally gave a positive answer, but Brendon knew he was lying.

“Then why were you and Tom getting it on in the bathroom at the party?” Brendon asked, shooting bullets with his eyes. Ross looked around the room a little awkwardly. He then took a seat on the floor. Oh, shit was about to get serious.

“That’s none of your fucking business, Urie,” Ross sighed. Huh. A closeted confused gay. Brendon could work with that. He liked a challenge.

“You decided to parade into my home with no invitation, I think the least you can do is explain what the fuck that was,” Brendon said, avoiding contact with Ross’s piercing gaze at all costs. Ross rolled his eyes and moved to a cross legged position. Brendon noticed that his own leg was bouncing.

“Listen, that was nothing, alright? It was- it was a mistake. I was drunk. He was drunk. End of story. And if you ever say a word about it to anyone, you’re fucking dead,” Ross clarified. Mighty big talk for a kid who couldn’t handle walking 20 minutes to Spencer’s house.

“I’d like to see you try,” Brendon muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, I didn’t say anything,”

“Can I borrow your shower? I was at practice before this,” Ross asked. Brendon frowned. His brain had been too preoccupied with wanting Ross to fuck him to realize that he reeked of hockey.

Brendon thought about that question for a moment. He could make Ross suffer for his actions and go to school the next day absolutely disgusting. On the other hand, his endocrine system certainly enjoyed the thought of having a naked Ryan Ross in his household.

“Yeah, sure,” Brendon replied, allowing his dick to think for him. Only in his mind, he added “ _ if you let me join you.” _

“Thanks,” Ross returned, and Brendon led him to the bathroom.

When Brendon returned to his bedroom, he heard the sound of water running through the pipes. He couldn’t help but let his brain picture a naked Ryan Ross in his shower. It wasn’t his fault. He briefly considered attempting to get a view, but then remembered that they had varsity practice soon anyways. He didn’t need to sneak around to see Ross naked. Plus, it wasn’t like he hadn’t already.

The rest of the night was filled with awkward silences and Brendon’s feeble attempts to say something -  _ anything _ \- to get Ross into his bed that night. He failed, no thanks to his father bringing an air mattress up to the room. Curse you, Boyd Urie.

Brendon felt strange having Ross in his room. He hadn’t had a sleepover in years. He had never really felt close enough to any of his fellow Hurricanes, and didn’t really have any friends outside of his hockey. Well, that was sort of a lie, he was really close with Dallon, but no way in hell would his parents let a gay Mormon stay in their house. Ironic, really, seeing as one was there every single day.

Ross was boring. He made Brendon turn Sportscentre onto his plasma screen TV, then made a wisecrack about how Brendon was a rich bitch for having a plasma screen TV. He felt the need to point out every single time a rerun of Brendon’s dad was on. Brendon cringed every single time, and thought about how he probably would’ve kicked Ross out by now if he didn’t look so fucking good shirtless.

Ross seemed like the type who didn’t sleep. Brendon couldn’t really sleep either, but he didn’t really have anyone to talk to. It would’ve been nice if he had something to pass the time until morning.

It was around 2AM when Brendon had a revelation as the mechanical glow of the TV droned on about Maurice Richard.

“Ross,” he whispered.

“What the fuck do you want?” Ross replied. The air was heavy between the two of them.

“My parents are gonna want to see the French project we have due today,” Brendon breathed.

“Fuck,” Ross cursed. “How much French do your parents know?”

“We’re from Edmonton, take a wild fucking guess,”

“Great, I’ll just write down something filled with a bunch of sacres or something and we’ll be fine,” Ross returned, sitting up and putting on the flashlight on his phone. “Where do you keep your paper?”

“Desk drawer,” Brendon returned numbly. Ross stood up off of the air mattress he had been resting on, the dim glow of his iPhone flashlight illuminating his thin and long body. His shirt was off, revealing a slightly muscular chest and back. Fuck. Why was Ross getting him so hot?

Ross bent over, the desk drawer squeaking as he opened it. Fuck. His ass looked really, really good. He had to bite his lip to prevent himself from making any kind of noise. Brendon reminded himself to make Ross bend over more often, although he was unsure when that opportunity would arise again.

Brendon was disappointed when Ross was standing up straight again, and returning to the air mattress.

“Don’t you need a pen?” Brendon asked in a quiet voice, hoping for another opportunity to check out Ross’s ass. He was having a very hard time trying to make it appear as though the soft v in Ross’s hips wasn’t turning him on.

“Got one,” Ross replied, pulling a blue pen out of his Adidas trackpants. Damn. Brendon thought he’d had a great opportunity to look there.

Ross went straight to work, looking focused and concentrated on whatever piece of French nonsense he was writing this time. Brendon’s horny teenage brain found everything that Ross did seem super attractive.

It wasn’t until then, when the only sound in the room was Brendon’s sheets ruffling as he rolled onto his back and Ross’s pen scraping against the piece of paper, when Brendon realized he was alone in his room with Ross. With his door closed.

Fuck, there were really no limits if Ross would take that pole out of his ass and just give in to the obvious sexual compatibility. Brendon was certainly no stranger to masturbatory fantasies about one Ryan Ross. There was one in particular that Brendon’s mind personally seemed to prefer to play out.

_ Brendon and Ross would get home from a varsity hockey practice and end up at Brendon’s house. Naturally, Brendon’s parents wouldn’t be home, and the two would be left to participate in whatever carnal activities they so desired. _

_ Ross would drop his hockey bag on the ground, and Brendon would match him and do the exact same thing. They’d start making out, not that Brendon really had much experience with that aside from 7 Minutes in Heaven and Spin the Bottle as a preteen. Brendon would appreciate the presence of Ross’s tongue in his mouth. Brendon would really, really appreciate it. _

_ Slowly, they’d make their way up Brendon’s staircase, beginning to pull at one another’s clothing. Brendon would feel nervous, he’d never done anything like this before. _

_ They’d find themselves in Brendon’s bedroom, and Brendon would slam the door behind them as Ross would practically throw him onto the queen-sized bed. Brendon would laugh as Ross would suck on his neck so hard that Brendon was certain there’d be a hickey afterwards. Ross’s tongue would tickle his neck. _

_ Ross would pull off his own shirt, to reveal that gorgeously muscular body of his. Well, not really that muscular, but Brendon prefered to live in a fantasy where Ross would be strong enough to fuck him into oblivion. _

_ Then Ross would look him in the eye, with a sexy, seductive eyebrow wag, and ask “You’ve never done this before, have you?” _

_ Brendon would just bite his lip and give Ross innocent eyes as he would shake his head. Ross would start kissing him again. _

_ The pair would slowly peel off each other’s clothes, and right before Brendon would go to retrieve some sort of protection and/or lubricant, he would ask “Hey, Ross?” _

_ “What, Urie?” _

_ “Can you tie me up?” he would provide, hoping, just hoping, that Ross might comply. _

_ “With what? We don’t have anything,” Ryan would reply, with a disappointed look in his eyes. He too, would be pained at the thought that they couldn’t have kinky sex. Then Brendon would become an absolute genius. _

_ “Skate laces,” Brendon would say. _

_ “What?” Ross would ask, confused. _

_ “Tie me up with your skate laces,” Brendon would repeat. _

_ Ross would immediately scramble out of the bed and go on a wild search for his skates to pull the laces out of. Brendon would smile when he got a really good look at Ross’s naked ass. _

_ Ross would return successfully with a skate lace in each hand, and assume a pose of victory. Brendon would laugh and then tell Ross to get his ass back in bed. Their lips wouldn’t break contact as Ross would skillfully wrap the skate laces around Brendon’s wrists and the bedposts. Brendon would laugh against Ross’s lips as he heard the condom packet open- _

“Urie? Urie? Why the fuck are you making out with a pillow?” Ross asked him, laughing. Brendon’s eyes widened, as he realized that he had moved his pillow from under his hear and was holding it to his face. His lips were puckered against it, and it was completely slobber covered. Oh, fuck. He wasn’t gonna hear the end of this for weeks.

“I wasn’t,” Brendon replied, moving it back to under his head, turning over and away from Ross. His saliva felt weird and wet against his ear.

“Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure I heard you  _ moaning _ too! Ha, fuck! You’re such a horny loser,” Ross cackled, rolling around laughing on his air mattress. Brendon imagined him saying in addition  _ “If you’re really that desperately horny, just say the word and I’ll fuck you.” _

The thought went straight to Brendon’s dick. Fuck. Dead puppies, Brendon, dead puppies.

Brendon tried to ignore any and all sexual thoughts about Ross as he fell asleep, but his dreams that night seemed to have a different idea. When he woke up he could vaguely remember dreaming about him and Ross contorted into positions that Brendon didn’t know possible. He really hated himself .

Sure enough, Ross was still awake when Brendon rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He was writing something on a piece of paper, but it didn’t look French like the other pieces of paper around him. Not enough useless accents. Brendon tried to see what he was writing, but his eyesight was too poor without his contacts in.

He stretched and got out of bed, Ryan remained focussed on whatever it was that he was writing. Brendon was a little offended that Ryan didn’t do as much as look at him. The time on his phone read 7:45. Shit, he needed to hurry his ass up.

He went into his walk-in closet and pulled his signature flannel and ripped jeans combo off of a rack.

As he peeled off what he had been wearing the night before, he considered offering Ross a change of clothes. Mostly because he thought it was absolutely obnoxious that all of the Huskies paraded around the school in their warm up suits. Also because Ross’s warm up suit really stank and he’d be trapped in a confined car with him.

After changing his own clothes, he grabbed a blue flannel and one of his many pairs of Roots sweatpants. He thought that the blue would bring out the little amber flecks in Ross’s brown eyes. God, that was gay.

He emerged from his closet fully clothed and tossed Ross the extra clothing without saying a word to him. Ross winced when his face was met with Brendon’s clothes.

“Thanks?” Ross mumbled.

Brendon left his room and found himself brushing his teeth in his bathroom, wondering exactly why he had been being so kind to Ross. Especially considering the events of Halloween. Brendon would never admit it, but seeing Ross making out with Oakes absolutely broke his heart. It gave him a tiny speckle of hope, though, because it meant that Brendon still stood some sort of chance. Looking at his face in the mirror, Brendon was really pathetic.

He spat the toothpaste out of his mouth and placed his contact lenses in his eyes. He exited the bathroom to run downstairs. His father was sitting in the kitchen, and he froze. He wasn’t really in the mood to be chewed out about having an impromptu sleepover with someone on the enemy team.

Alas, he knew it was coming, so he just walked in. His father was reading this month’s copy of Hometown Hockey. Brendon hadn’t been aware it had been released yet. Ross was on the cover with Spencer Smith. They were both wearing their equipment with their matching Huskies jerseys on. They were back to back but their necks were craned and they were smiling at one another. The cover story title read “Childhood Best Friends Ross & Smith on their Way to First Round of OHL Draft”. Brendon frowned. He wasn’t aware the two of them had become so popular in the hockey world.

“Morning dad,” Brendon grumbled. His father looked up from the magazine.

“You know Brendon, I thought that I would be mad at you for inviting Ryan Ross over with no explanation,” Brendon’s father started. He never seemed to finish that thought.

“But?” Brendon asked, hoping that there was a but to the situation.

“He should be a good influence on you. Look at him. He’s going places. You could learn to be a little more like him and Smith,” he contemplated, returning to his reading. Brendon cringed. He would never, ever act like Ross and Smith, even if it meant getting drafted. Brendon reminded himself to burn the magazine when he got home.

Ross emerged down the staircase, and Brendon had to bite his lip to prevent himself from making any noise. He’d never seen actually Ross in a flannel before. It suited him. Along with his weird shoulder length haircut, it almost made him look like a lesbian. A hot lesbian, like, the kind you’d tell your bros that you’d turn straight. Fuck.

“Alright boys, let’s go,” Boyd said flatly.

Brendon grabbed his school bag and the group left and piled into one of the three pickup trucks they owned. God, could the Uries be any more stereotypically Albertan?

Brendon sat shotgun while Ross awkwardly twiddled with a loose thread on the flannel Brendon had lent him. That was a Roots flannel, it cost like, $50. If Ross ruined it, Brendon would never forgive him. It was basically silent besides the hum of Carrie Underwood on the radio.

“So, Ryan, I was reading about you and Spencer in Hometown Hockey. Were you really top of the league in both goals and points last year?” Brendon’s dad asked. Brendon cringed and looked back at Ross, who was smiling smugly.

“Yes, I was,” Ross beamed.

“And you weren’t drafted? Any team would be lucky to have you,” Brendon’s dad said. Great, just what Brendon needed. Ross being the child that he always wanted in place of Brendon.

“Thank you, Mr. Urie. I actually declined to be drafted, my name was on the original list but I had it taken off,” Ross replied. Brendon was confused. Who in their right mind would give up the opportunity to be OHL drafted? Brendon hadn’t made the draft last year, himself. So this year was his last chance.

“Really? Ha, it’s too bad they couldn’t have given your place to Brendon!” his father laughed. Ross snickered. Brendon knew that he didn’t make the draft last year; did his father really need to keep reminding him?

They arrived at the school and Brendon said a quick goodbye to his father. Even though their lockers were almost beside one another, Ross walked in the opposite direction from Brendon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maurice "The Rocket" Richard- the most famous Quebecois hockey player ever  
> Hometown Hockey- the magazine for the Ontario Minor Hockey Association  
> Sacres- French Canadian swear words


	11. 10 Reasons Never To Room With Brendon Urie, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so we've reached the montreal chapters. all of these chapters are very long so they will be published in parts to spread them up a little bit more. as of right now, we have no intention of slowing down the publication schedule. a list of canadian slang can now be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7975132) so they won't be at the bottom of the fic anymore. if we think anything else is unclear though we'll still put it there. remember all french is hovertext!  
> the song of the week is [Montreal -40°C](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHwSk8bFS4M) by Malajube, a French Canadian group.

Ryan had really, really hoped it had been a dream: that Mr. Beckett and Mr. Saporta hadn’t sat him and Urie down and told them that they needed to get along or they’d be off of the team.

He especially hoped he had been dreaming when Mr. Saporta told them that they wouldn’t get to choose their rooming for the Montreal tournament, and would have to room together in order to “bond”. And if they fought during that time period, they’d be off the team.

The two of them had protested their coaches’ ridiculous idea, but to no avail. Ryan cursed under his breath as he walked into the hotel room with Urie in tow.

Ryan pulled out a suitcase rack and threw his bag on it and his hockey bag on the ground beside it.

Urie threw all of his stuff onto the bed that Ryan had deemed to be the good bed when he walked in the room. That left him extremely displeased.

Urie got up and mumbled something about going to the bathroom, and did just that. Ryan saw his opportunity, and threw all of Brendon’s things on the other bed, taking a seat in the prime real estate that Urie had attempted to rob him of.

Ryan was scrolling through his Instagram feed when Urie reappeared from the bathroom door.

“What the fuck, Ross?” Urie asked, sounding angry.

“What?” Ryan asked smugly.

“You know exactly what,” Urie said. “Move or I’m sitting on you.”

“Go ahead,” Ryan smiled smugly, knowing Urie was way too much of a pussy to actually do that.

“For the record, this is your own fucking fault,” Urie replied, plopping himself down onto Ryan’s lap. He didn’t weigh that much, which came as a surprise, but that certainly didn’t help the fact that he was sitting directly atop Ryan’s knees, bending them slightly backwards. It definitely hurt.

“Listen, Urie, get the fuck off of me or you’ll be sorry,” Ryan grumbled before making a failed attempt to bend his knees and launch Urie off of him.

“What’re you gonna do? Fight me and risk losing your spot on the team?”  Urie asked. He was right, there was no way he’d do that.

“Fuck off Urie!” Ryan groaned, attempting to push Urie off of him but failing miserably. Urie burst into laughter.

“God, you’ve been making the varsity team since the ninth grade? What’d you do, suck Mr. Saporta off or something?” he laughed.

Ryan’s blood boiled with anger. He was sick and tired of Urie making gay jokes about him. The rumors had died down ages ago, why was Urie so fucking persistent about it? And so fucking homophobic. Ryan was fucking sick of him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Ryan warned, and Urie did exactly that, but still didn’t move from where he sat. Ryan was very, very irritated by the manbaby who was currently sitting on him. He silently prayed that someone or something would save him from this situation.

As if on cue, his prayers were answered by a knock on the door accompanied by Mr. Beckett’s voice calling “5 minutes!”

Oh, shit. Ryan had forgotten to change out of his disgusting clothing that he had spent the previous six hour bus ride in. Spencer had accidentally spilled coffee all over Ryan’s sweatpants as they went over a bump. Jon and Brendon had laughed at him from the coach bus seats across the aisle. Ryan had to spend three hours in coffee covered sweats, and he still hadn’t changed out of them.

“Get off, Urie,” Ryan ordered. For some reason, this time he obliged and pushed off of Ryan’s knees. Fuck, they hurt now.

Ryan got off of the bed and walked over to his suitcase. He pulled out the first pair of pants he could find, which coincidentally happened to be his varsity warmup pants. He cast them aside and pulled out the next pair, some old pair of black skinny jeans. He momentarily contemplated going into the bathroom to change, but changed his mind because well, it wasn’t like Urie hadn’t seen him naked before.

He quickly changed his pants and then exited the room without saying a word to Urie. God, what had made their coaches think that this was a good idea?

He walked through the hotel hallway; the tacky carpet with weird floral patterns cushioned any sound that may have been emitted from his converse sneakers.

At the elevator, Jon was waiting with Spencer and the two coaches.

“Glad to see you two haven’t killed each other yet,” Spencer teased.

“Oh, shut up,” Ryan replied. He was very aware of Mr. Saporta staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

The elevator made a little  _ bing! _ sound, and the doors opened for the group to walk in.

“Where’s Brendon?” Mr. Beckett asked, noticing the absence of Ryan’s hotel roommate. He then

“Back in the room,” Ryan said, attempting to mask any disdain in his voice. “He’ll be down in a minute, I’m sure.”

Everyone was awkwardly quiet, except for Mr. Saporta who had a weird grin on his face. Ryan found it unsettling.

The elevator dinged and they were released from the confining space. Ryan very deeply hoped that Urie would just keep watching TV and forget that he needed to be at dinner. Ryan had been on varsity for long enough to know that you were forced into the buddy system with your roommates at away tournaments. He was in no mood for buddying with Brendon Urie.

The majority of the team was already waiting in the lobby; all of the couches were taken up by other players.

“So, Ryan,” Jon began.

“God, Jon, I’m not in the mood for your friendship bullshit,” Ryan said a little too harshly. Jon’s face fell a little bit. Ryan immediately felt bad.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Spencer shot Ryan a sour look. Ryan kind of hated how close Spencer and Jon were getting. He was especially jealous that they got to bunk together while Ryan was stuck dealing with Urie.

Spencer and Jon started talking about something while Ryan pulled out his phone and attempted to tune out all of the noise. He had message notifications from Z and- Tom Oakes? God, Ryan was not in the mood for a confrontation about the Halloween party last Friday. He was already unhappy enough about Tom being on this trip.

He opened his phone to Z’s messages,  _ u get there ok?,  _ which was sent about 45 minutes ago, and  _ don’t tell me uries already killed u lol,  _ which was much more recent.

He sent back a quick response of  _ we’re fine _ , then exited the messages app, leaving a tiny red badge with a number 3 in the centre on the top right corner of the icon. He felt a tiny pang of guilt in his stomach, but ignored it. He hadn’t spoken to Tom since they’d been caught sucking face at the Halloween party. Thank god they hadn’t gotten any further before Urie had decided to fuck everything up.

Speak of the devil, when Ryan looked up from his phone, Urie was talking to Jon and Spencer. Why, exactly, Ryan wondered, were his friends so eager to befriend the enemy? It wasn’t fair to him.

“Okay, I think that’s everyone, let’s go boys,” Mr. Saporta announced, standing in front of the group with Mr. Beckett and waving for everyone to follow them.

When they walked out the door, it was already dark outside. The sky was filled with the artificial glow of the Montreal city lights, and heavy disco music played in the background. In Etobicoke or Quebec City, no one would expect a Thursday night to be made for partying, but in Montreal, it was just common sense. 

Ryan refused to speak with Urie. There was no way that he was dealing with that asshole outside of the time they were mandated to. He spent their walk to the restaurant with his hands firmly tucked in his pockets attempting to ignore whatever stupid thing Urie was blabbering on to Brent about.

He considered attempting to push his way into Spencer and Jon’s conversation, about the Leafs and the Bruins, but decided it would be too much work, and wasn’t really in the mood for defending the city that had caused this turmoil.

They got to their destination, and Ryan was happy to see that it was a traditional French Canadian restaurant.

The outside of the restaurant was decorated like a typical café, and it was considerably small. Ryan hoped that it would be able to sustain their 22-person group.

When they walked in, it looked like most restaurants Ryan had eaten at in Quebec. There were brick walls, and circular tables with white tablecloths. It was nothing fancy, which Ryan certainly liked. He was not prepared to spend a ridiculous amount of money on food that he could probably cook himself.

“We’ve got the whole restaurant for the next couple of hours, sit wherever you want,” Mr. Beckett announced.

Ryan followed Jon and Spencer to a table set for four people in one of the back corners. Ryan sat in between Jon and Spencer, happy to be back and included in the group.

Ryan picked up his menu and noticed it was written entirely in French. He chuckled a little bit to himself, knowing that almost no one would be able to comprehend what any of it said. He wondered just why the coaches had chosen this place.

“You’re gonna have to order for me,” Spencer laughed.

“Yeah, me too,” Jon added. Ryan was more than happy to.

“How does it feel to be back home?” Spencer asked.

“I was born in Toronto, dipshit,” Ryan laughed.

“Yeah, but you’re from Quebec, aren’t you?” Spencer said.

“Quebec City, not Montreal,” Ryan explained. The two were very different. Not that an Ontarian would understand.

“Same difference,” Spencer shrugged. If it had been anyone else, Ryan probably would’ve gone on a rant about the cultural and historical differences of Quebec City and Montreal, but Spencer had already heard it a million times before.

“Uh, guys?” Ryan looked up from his menu to see Urie’s face looking down at them.

“What?” Ryan snarled. Spencer shot him a “be nice” look.

“Everyone’s tables are full and I don’t want to sit alone,” Brendon said, his left hand rubbing the back of his neck. Ugh, where were the Hurricanes the only time Ryan would ever need them? Right - none of them were even on varsity except Brent, who was sitting at the table with Ryan’s secondary friend group, Dan, Tom and Nick.

“Sure!” Jon said, not bothering to consult the other members of the group before allowing the Stephen Harper to Ryan’s Thomas Mulcair to sit at their table. Ryan shot Jon an ugly look, but Jon just shrugged and smiled.

As Urie pulled the chair out it made an ugly squeaking noise. Ryan couldn’t be any more irritated. 

Ryan watched as Urie struggled to read the menu. He laughed a little bit under his breath, because he knew that Urie fancied himself as some kind of King of French. He really couldn’t even carry on a conversation. 

A waiter appeared in a white button up shirt and black dress pants with a scratch pad. 

“Parlez-vous francais?” he asked. Before Ryan could jump in and say no, Urie immediately interjected “Oui!” Dumbass. He didn’t even know how to say oui, how would he manage to order for himself?

“C’est bon! Que voudriez-vous boire?” the waiter asked them. His accent was very thick, even more so than Ryan’s father. 

“Est-ce que je-” Urie started. There was no way that Ryan was going to let him be that fucking rude to that poor waiter.

“Nous voudrions l’eau, s’il vous plaît,” Ryan cut him off.

“Pour tout l’monde?” the waiter asked.

“Oui,” Ryan responded, and the waiter left them.

"What the fuck was that about, Ross?” Urie snapped at him.

“Um, you were being rude to that waiter? He didn’t deserve to put up with your shitty French and rude grammatical conventions,” Ryan replied quickly. Jon and Spencer remained completely silent, exchanging nervous glances with one another. A bomb could go off between Ryan and Urie at any second.

“Excuse me? I was using proper grammar,” Brendon scoffed.

“As if! What you just said was like you were speaking to some slob you had absolutely no respect for! Especially in French Canada!” Ryan felt his face heating up.

“Who died and made you King of French Canada?” Brendon mocked. “You’re not even French Canadian!”

Ryan’s eyes widened, then he burst into hysterical laughter. God, Urie was really fucking stupid.

“You- You think I’m a fucking Ontarian?” Ryan laughed. Even Spencer and Jon were laughing quietly along with him. Ryan had made himself very clear for a very long time to almost everyone who knew him that he was French. How did Urie not fucking know?

Urie’s cheeks turned bright red, and he did absolutely everything in his power to avoid eye contact with Ryan. 

“I knew you were dense Urie, but I didn’t know you were that  _ fucking  _ dense,” Ryan continued laughing. 

“I’m not dense,” Brendon muttered. 

“Vraiment? Comment ça t’savais-tu pas que ch’suis Québécois? Je l'ai dit toute l’temps en ‘a classe de Francais. Aussi, j'même sacre quand on se bat,” Ryan smirked. Normally in class he would tone down his French Canadian accent, but he did his best to imitate his father as he mocked Urie. To Urie he probably sounded like he was speaking a different language. Urie looked dumbfounded. 

“I-” Urie started, but couldn’t finish his sentence. 

“C’est que j’ai pensé,” Ryan smiled. He loved feeling completely and totally superior to Urie. Pride boiled in his chest. 

“So, how about the hockey games we have coming up?” Jon asked, trying to change the subject. Ryan wanted to continue on the subject of why Urie was a fucking tool, but Jon was obviously extremely uncomfortable. 

The waiter reemerged with four glasses of water, and there was obvious tension between the group. 

“Décidez-vous que vous voudriez?” he asked them.

“Moi et mes copains, on voudrait le poulet,” Ryan said, gesturing to his two friends on either side of him. Jon and Spencer nodded, they knew enough French to know what he had ordered. 

“Et il est vegetarian, donc, il voudrait la salade,” Ryan added, putting special sting into the fact that Brendon was not, and never would be referred to as his “copain”. 

Brendon's eyes lit up for some unknown reason, Ryan was annoyed. Why was he like this?

“You- how did you know I was vegetarian?” Urie asked, eyes wide and bright. Oh, like Ryan cared about Urie's weird food habits. 

“Yeah, you never shut up about it,” Ryan mumbled. In reality, Brendon almost never talked about it, Ryan had picked it up in a conversation while working on their English project and remembered it for some strange reason. 

The rest of that evening was extremely awkward. Jon, Ryan and Spencer talked most of the time, while Urie sat and twiddled with his phone. Ryan was pretty sure that Urie wasn’t actually texting anyone, but rather attempting to appear busy. 

They returned to the hotel, and Ryan was about ready to pass out from the lengthy day. He was very pleased when Urie announced that he planned to spend what was left before curfew in Brent’s room. They’d probably be jacking off to pay per view porn on their hotel TV, but Ryan just needed a break from Urie. 

He brushed his teeth and stripped down into boxers, preparing himself to sleep. Not that he would even be getting any sleep that night. He flipped on the TV to Sportscentre, because he certainly needed some background noise and wasn’t going to miss out on whatever the latest news in the hockey community was. Especially considering he had missed the Canadiens game that night. 

Unlike his counterparts, Ryan did not utilize his time away from the enemy to masturbate. Instead, he did something actually productive. He decided he would write. 

He went to his suitcase and pulled out a moleskine black leather journal, as well as a pen, and retired to the tiny bed that Urie had previously sat on him in attempt to steal. 

Ryan enjoyed being away from home, but the issue with hotels in Quebec was that they very much resembled those in France. The beds were miniscule, barely enough space for a single person. The rooms were decorated with drab colours and floral carpets.

It was dull, but it was quiet. Ryan could focus without the constant hum of Urie’s hyperactive personality. Ryan was growing very tired of it very quickly.

Pretending that the current situation did not exist, Ryan thought for a moment, then let his pen glide across the page. The words flowed out of his mind and onto the paper almost seamlessly.

_ I will revolutionize love. _

_ No longer will I conform _

_ To this _

_ Ridiculous preset that society has handed me. _

_ I will wear his beard burn proudly on my face. _

_ I will start a revolution in his eyes _

_ And crumble establishment _

_ In his kiss. _

Ryan liked what he had written. It certainly wasn’t awful. Not his best work either though.

Unfortunately, his blissful and poetic thought was interrupted by one Brendon Urie opening the door to their hotel room. Ryan squinted his eyes, but instead of getting up to put away his journal, he shoved it underneath the soft pillow. There was no way in hell he was risking losing the good bed.

Urie looked him up and down and bit his lip. His expression was impossible to read. Ryan didn’t like it. 

Urie walked into the bathroom, where Ryan assumed he was brushing his teeth and changing. Ryan quickly pulled himself out of bed and threw his journal back into his suitcase, before rushing back into the bed and pulling the covers up to his neck. It was his, and Urie would have to learn to deal with it.

“Move Ross,” Urie said through gritted teeth. Ryan looked up at a half naked Urie. It was dark in the room, but Ryan could still see the curves of his muscular chest and abs. He looked soft, his hair was fluffy and he had glasses on? Since when did Urie wear glasses? Ryan was kind of annoyed that Urie looked so good in them. 

“No,” Ryan said firmly, rolling over and turning away so that he couldn’t see Urie. There was no way Ryan was switching.

He heard Urie’s footsteps, hopeful that he would be going to the other bed and shutting up so that Ryan might finally get some sleep that night. 

He felt the warmth of the covers disappear momentarily, and the bed dip to his left side. No. This wasn’t fucking happening.

“Get out,” Ryan spat.

“No,” Urie replied, squirming in and attempting to find any space in the little bed. Ryan was pissed the fuck off.

“Are you really this much of a fucking child, Urie? You’d rather sleep on top of me than let us both get any sleep? God,” Ryan rolled his eyes. Urie rolled over and found himself on top of Ryan. Considering the size, it was really his only option. Ryan was certainly unhappy about the situation, but Urie was  _ not  _ going to fall asleep on top of him. That wasn’t going to happen in a million years.

“I had it first,” Brendon mumbled sleepily. 

“Fuck off!” Ryan yelled, attempting to push Urie off of him, but Urie transferred his weight in the opposite direction, nulling Ryan’s attempts. 

Urie let out a breezy laugh, and closed his eyes. Ryan was fucking pissed. There was no possible way Ryan would be able to fall asleep with Urie’s boney hips pressing against his own. Urie pulled off his glasses and placed them on the nightstand beside them. Ryan was certainly glad that the plastic wouldn’t be sticking into his neck. 

He figured he’d let Brendon fall asleep and then push him out. That was a good plan.

He heard his phone vibrate, or was it Brendon’s phone? He grabbed his phone off of the nightstand where he had plugged it in to charge earlier. 

He had several notifications, most of them from instagram. A couple from Twitter. But the one that stood out the most was the 3 new messages from Tom. Fuck. 

Ryan had known he would have to face Tom at some point. He absolutely planned on it. Just, not this soon. It had been less than a week! Did Tom really expect him to be fully recovered from basically having his worst enemy discover he was secretly into dudes?

Ryan gathered up the courage to open his messages. 

_ Ryan can we just talk abt what happened _

_ Pls _

Those two had a timestamp from earlier in the day, 5:37. He had been sending desperate messages like that all week. Ryan had just left him on read every time. 

_ Ryan can u come 2 my room  _

_ I just want 2 talk abt halloween _

And those were from a little while after they had gotten back to the hotel, 9:18.

_ Fuck u 2 ry  _ with 6 red heart emojis beside it, and that had just come through. Fuck. He liked Tom. The two had made great friends. He might have actually been dating Tom now, if Urie hadn’t fucked everything up. Besides, Ryan was terrified at the thought of being in a relationship with another man. After getting caught so easily, Ryan wouldn’t be doing anything like that again anytime soon.

He felt guilty after reading that last message. He didn’t want to ruin his friendship with Tom over one shitty drunken makeout session. Actually, it was a pretty fucking awesome drunken makeout session. 

He owed Tom an apology.. So he finally texted Tom back a very quick  _ sorry _ , and then opened his messages with Z.

_ Hey u still up?  _ Ryan texted her, knowing the answer was probably yes. It wasn’t even that late, only around 11:30. He sent the same thing to each Jon and Spencer as well, hoping to get a response out of at least one of them. 

His thoughts on his good friends were quickly interrupted when he felt something poking his leg. Oh, fuck no.

He threw Urie off of the bed as quickly as humanly possible, not giving the other boy time to prevent it. 

“Ow!” he shouted.

“Did you just pop a fucking boner?” Ryan yelled, disgusted that Urie would do something like that while literally on top of Ryan? He felt incredibly violated. 

“That fucking hurt Ross!” Brendon yelled back. 

“Urie! You just fucking-” Ryan returned in shock, unsure what exactly he could say past this point.

Urie sat up on the floor, looking up at a horrified Ryan Ross. Ryan literally could not believe what had just happened. That was so gross. Couldn’t Urie keep it in his pants for two seconds? 

“Sorry,” Urie muttered, standing up and looking awkwardly around the room. 

“You’re not getting back in here like that,” Ryan informed him. God, what the fuck Urie?

Urie looked extremely embarrassed. His cheeks were a rosy pink and the rest of his body was as pale as a ghost. His breathing was obviously elevated, his chest rising and falling at an extremely quickly. To be fair, Ryan probably would’ve been embarrassed too if he were in the same position. 

There was a knock on the door. Fuck. Could that night get any fucking worse? 

“Boys, open up!” Ryan heard Mr. Beckett yell. Oh my fucking god. It could get fucking worse.

Ryan looked at Urie with malice as he pulled himself out of bed. 

Ryan was the one to open the door. Mr. Beckett had an eyebrow raised at them. Unfortunately for Urie, there were other team members in the hallway that were snickering. Ryan actually felt bad for Urie, if anyone had heard what just happened, the whole team would know by morning.

“Is everything okay in here?” Mr. Beckett asked. “I’m doing a bed check,” he clarified.

Ryan might’ve been going crazy, but he could swear he heard Mr. Saporta laughing even though he couldn’t see him.

“Yeah,” Ryan answered a little too quickly. He turned his head to the right at Urie, who was staring at him with bulged and terrified eyes.

“Are you sure? I heard yelling,” Mr. Beckett said in an accusatory tone, eying the two up and down. 

Urie looked at Ryan and Ryan looked at Urie. They both knew that they had to think of something, neither wanted to get kicked off of varsity for fighting. 

“Oh, Ross here was just getting really emotional over the Canadiens game recap!” Urie laughed a little. “He accidentally smacked me while he was cheering.”

Why was that the story Urie had come up with? That was so stupid.

“Okay, sleep well,” Mr. Beckett said, the tone of his voice leading Ryan to believe that he wasn’t completely convinced by Urie’s story. “Set your alarms for 6, we’re meeting in the lobby for breakfast at 6:30 before the game.”

Both boys groaned.

“Hey, if you didn’t want early mornings, you shouldn’t have signed up for this. Also, don’t forget dress code for the games. Shirt and tie,” Mr. Beckett reminded them.

The door shut, and as soon as it did, both boys made a mad dash for the good bed. They were about equal in their running speeds, so unfortunately for Ryan, they ended up a tangled mess on the bed. 

Ryan was not happy about being forced to spend the night with Urie on  top of him. It was so uncomfortable, and Urie snored. Loudly. Ryan had come to accept that he wasn’t getting any sleep that night, so he texted Z until she fell asleep. 

Ryan also decided that it might teach Urie a lesson if, every once in awhile in the middle of the night, Ryan pushed him out of bed. 

It brought him great satisfaction to see Urie’s sleepy, pissed off face staring up at him. It didn’t bring him as much satisfaction when Urie would crawl back into bed and try to steal all of the covers. Ryan was just thankful that they didn’t have a repeat of what had happened earlier that night. 


	12. 10 Reasons Never To Room With Brendon Urie, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's part two of "10 Reasons Never to Room with Brendon Urie." we know, we know, it's a bit early but it was for a friend. canadian slang is now in a separate fic, and we also have a masterlist of hockey rules and terminology. this chapter is a bit more hockey heavy than usual  
> the song of the week is [Boyfriend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJOHoiPGpac) by canadian musicians Tegan and Sarah.

Ryan was still awake when Urie’s alarm went off. Urie rolled over to turn it off, but he must’ve miscalculated the size of the tiny bed as he fell off on to the tacky floral carpet. 

Ryan laughed while Urie looked up at him with sad, sleepy eyes. Ryan felt a little bad, but not enough to apologize or help the other boy up.

Urie grabbed some clothing and escaped into the bathroom, cheeks a soft and embarrassed pink. Ryan kind of wondered why Urie felt the need to do that. It wasn’t as though Ryan hadn’t already seen him naked -not that Ryan wanted to see Urie naked.

Ryan pulled himself out of bed and felt a twinge of pain in his back and hips. The bed itself had been uncomfortable, and having Urie asleep on top of him really hadn’t helped the situation. He leaned backwards and cracked his shoulders as he stood up, a few different popping sounds could be heard from different locations on his spine.

He walked over to his suitcase, the carpeting feeling strange against his bare feet. He got down onto his knees and pulled out his clothing and frowned. He hated having to look professional for hockey games, it was so stupid. They were just going to get on the ice and beat each other up anyways, why was there a need to look professional before the process began?

As Ryan was still half naked, he heard the bathroom door click open. Ryan turned his head to see Urie emerge from the bathroom, actually looking half decent. He pulled his arm up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. His white dress shirt was untucked, and it came up with his arm, revealing a soft line of peachy skin and a defined v shape in his hipbones between the white wrinkled fabric and his black dress pants.

He walked back to his suitcase, which was lying beside Ryan’s on the floor, crouched down and pulled out a black tie. Ryan wasn’t paying too much attention to Urie, so he didn’t notice the way that Urie was looking at him. Okay, he noticed a little bit. But it was probably just his imagination, there was no way Urie was gay. After all, hadn’t he called Ryan a fag?

After Urie had finished tying his tie, he stood up again and grabbed his hockey bag and stick. It was pretentious that Urie would pay hundreds of dollars for a Nexus 3000. It was just a stick; it wouldn’t make him a good hockey player. He walked away from Ryan, the sound of footsteps growing quieter, and then the door squeaked as it opened. The door closed, and Ryan was alone. Thank god, being around Urie was exhausting. Ryan stood up and walked to the nightstand, where he had left his phone the previous night. He flashed on the screen to see a lot of notifications, as well as the time, 6:25 AM. But what stood out to him was the 3 messages from Tom, as well as 2 snaps from him. Ryan didn’t bother to open them, just unlocked his phone to clear up his notifications, and then locked it again.

He dressed himself quickly, stuffed his phone in his pocket, then grabbed his own bag and stick and left the hotel room empty behind him.

When he found himself in the lobby, he saw Jon and Spencer sitting at a table meant for two people. Ryan liked Jon, but it was getting irritating how Jon thought that he could replace Ryan as Spencer’s best friend. Ryan walked over to where they were sitting and feasting on god-only-knows-what nasty hotel food. He dropped his bag down to his feet and pulled up an extra chair.

“Morning,” Ryan grumbled, slouching down into the uncomfortable chair.

“Someone’s grumpy,” Spencer noted. Ryan glared at him.

“You and Urie actually made it through the night without killing one another? That’s progress,” Jon let out a breezy laugh.

“I need a coffee,” Ryan muttered, standing up and walking towards the table that held the carafes. He poured out a decent amount into the cheap paper cup then added cream and sugar.  He popped a lid onto the top, assuming that they’d likely be leaving fairly soon.

He returned back to where he had previously been sitting. Jon and Spencer were laughing about something completely unknown to Ryan. It made him uncomfortable.

“So what were you guys yelling about last night anyways?” Spencer asked Ryan.

Ryan quickly attempted to remember the story that Urie had told Mr. Beckett, “Oh, that. I was watching the recap from the Canadiens game and he was telling me to shut up,” he lied. He may not have liked Urie, but he wasn’t about to spill what had actually happened. That would’ve been cruel, even considering their history.

Spencer raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t prod any further.

“Okay boys! The bus is here, I expect all of you and your equipment to be on it in in the next 10 minutes!” Mr. Saporta announced to the breakfast room full of boys.

Ryan motioned to Spencer to stand up and come with him. Spencer obeyed, standing up and slinging his hockey bag over his shoulder. The two began to walk out together, but Jon quickly followed behind them.

Spencer and Ryan put their equipment in the compartment under the bus, but Jon just walked on since he wasn’t technically a player. Ryan had been on varsity long enough to know that Jon would likely be sitting with the coaches at the front, strategizing. After all, the first round robin game makes or breaks you.

Ryan followed Spencer to the area behind the coaches. Really? Spencer knew that they always sat at the back. It was a pecking order thing. Ryan was the captain, so he got to sit in the prime area at the back of the bus. Spencer being the captain on the Huskies had that liberty too. Unfortunately for Ryan, Urie was also considered a higher status player, considering he had a letter on both varsity and the Hurricanes, and especially because of who his father was. Jon had gotten to sit at the back with them on the way down by association. At least by sitting at the front they could avoid Urie’s annoying personality.

Soon enough, the bus was filled with loud and excited voices of teenage boys high on the possibility of victory, and they were on their way to the arena. Ryan knew it was about a half hour drive from their hotel, so he gave his coffee to Spencer and used it as an opportunity to powernap.

He awoke disoriented and fuzzy eyed, Spencer was shaking his shoulder. The only thing in his vision was the giant arena outside his window. Ryan was actually really excited, they were playing on the Canadiens practice ice.

“I’m up, I’m up,” Ryan said, flailing his arms to stop Spencer.

“Good, because this team would do shit without you,” Spencer smiled, handing Ryan the remainder of the cup of cheap coffee Ryan had given him at the beginning of the ride. Ryan frowned when his hands weren’t met with warmth.

“Drink it,” Spencer said. “You’re gonna fall asleep on the ice otherwise, man.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, but he knew that Spencer was right. He quickly downed what was left of the cold coffee, cringing as he did.

“Alright Bulls! Don’t tell your principal I said this, but lets fuck this shit up!” Mr. Saporta yelled. The bus was filled with an eruption of cheering. The doors opened, and everyone was flooding out.

The game went better than any of them had expected it to, especially considering it was so early morning. They were playing a AAA team from Quebec, ranked third in the province, Jon had informed them. The one actual official manager task that Jon performed was scoping out the competition, and he did a pretty damn good job of it.

Ryan won every single faceoff, as usual, but was always certain to send the puck either to his right or behind him, never to his left. After all, he couldn’t trust Urie with anything, especially not the puck.

To no one’s surprise, Brent got kicked out in the first period of the game. He checked some kid into the boards from behind. Whoever it was definitely obtained some kind of major injury from it, they were on the ground for at least 5 minutes and had to leave the game. Jon was obviously the most knowledgeable on how penalties worked, so the coaches let him talk to the refs about what kind of penalty Brent would be looking at. Jon informed the whole team that unfortunately, Brent would not be playing the rest of the tournament with them. Ryan was quite relieved that Brent wouldn’t be playing anymore.

Ryan scored the opening goal, feeling glorious as the number on the scoreboard shifted from 0 to 1. After the game, he would discover that his assist had come from none other than Brendon Urie.

Ryan scored twice more throughout the game, every goal had actually come from his line. A hat trick from Ryan, two goals from Urie and a goal from Oakes. Spencer unfortunately let two goals past him, but it was okay. They had still made a considerable victory.

In addition to their goals, both Ryan and Brendon had achieved the medal of honour of a Gordie Howe hat trick. Ryan had assisted Oakes’ goal, and been penalized for tripping, as well as an interference call which was absolute bullshit. Brendon got a penalty for fighting, but in his defense, he hadn’t started it. Probably just instigated it, like the little shit he was.

Ryan’s line was on when the final buzzer, and the five boys on the ice erupted in happy victory. They all threw their sticks in the air, and the whole team followed them onto the ice and skated back to doggy pile on Spencer. Everyone was laughing, everyone was smiling.

They were instructed to stay on the ice for team MVPs to be announced. Ryan’s body was still so filled with adrenaline that he wasn’t even upset when the opposing coach announced that Tom was the Bulls MVP.

They skated off, and Ryan felt homesick. He belonged in uncomfortable skates on dimly lit ice pads at unspeakable hours of the morning. When they reached the changeroom, everyone was still lit up off of the excitement of winning the first round robin by so much.

“Boys! You all played fantastically today, and I expect the same quality of game from you every game!” Mr. Beckett said enthusiastically. There wasn’t really much of a reaction from the team.

“That was fucking AWESOME!” Mr. Saporta yelled, throwing his clipboard and papers down beside him. The whole team started cheering. Mr. Beckett gave him a weird look.

“Get your asses changed and back on the bus in 20 minutes! See you all then!” Mr. Saporta chuckled, while picking up everything from the floor and walking out of the room. Was he allowed to leave them alone? Probably not. But no one really cared enough to report him. They all loved Mr. Saporta.

Ryan got out of his rancid hockey equipment as quickly as he could, and briefly considered showering before remembering that they’d be back at the hotel soon enough. He had no need to expose himself to his entire team this time.

The bus ride back was mostly just all of them going on about how well the game had gone. Jon was in the front seats with the coaches again, analyzing how the game had gone and what had made it go so well so that they could continue that trend. Ryan couldn’t help but notice that Mr. Beckett looked completely and totally confused.

They got back to the hotel, and Urie had brought one of those pretentious hockey equipment-hanging trees. Ryan unfortunately had to hang his own off of the shower rod, considering he was not a rich snob.

Ryan quickly changed out of his sweaty dress clothes, and jumped in the shower quickly. He rinsed off his body quickly, attempting to remove any of the teenage boy hockey odour off of himself.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower. He walked back into the main area of their hotel room, to see Brendon lounging on the good bed, playing with his phone. He looked so stereotypically Canadian: a red lumberjack flannel and blue skinny jeans. A beanie pressed down his fluffy hair. He looked up for a moment, presumably to ensure that it was in fact Ryan in the room, not some axe murderer.  Once Urie’s attention returned to his phone, Ryan grabbed a clean pair of boxers, a blue flannel and a pair of roots sweatpants. He knew it would be cold, so he grabbed a toque out of his suitcase as well.

He dropped the towel from around him, leaving himself completely naked and exposed. He must’ve imagined it, but he thought he heard Urie let out a tiny squeak. He must’ve, because when he looked over his shoulder, Urie was contently typing something on his phone instead of staring at Ryan.

Ryan quickly pulled his clothing on, just to be safe.

“What the fuck, Ross?” Urie asked him, staring at the clothing he had just put on.

“What?” Ryan replied. Urie’s face was slowly starting to turn as red as the flannel he was wearing.

“That’s my fucking shirt. Give it back,” Urie said through gritted teeth, his fists clenching. Okay, so it was Urie’s shirt. But it was soft and it smelled nice. It brought out Ryan’s eyes. He had taken a liking to this shirt, and had absolutely no intention of returning it to its rightful owner.

“No it’s not,” Ryan lied defensively. 

“Yeah, it is.” Brendon started. “I lent it to you when you invited yourself into my home on Sunday because you’re too fucking stupid to remember your own fucking key!”

Yeah, it was that shirt. Ryan had only worn it that one day, but it was nicer than any of the clothes Ryan owned. It wasn’t high fashion, but it was soft and it felt broken in. 

“Did you ever think that maybe I own the same one? Every fucking Canadian has a Roots flannel!” Ryan yelled back. 

“Oh, like you could afford a Roots flannel,” Brendon jabbed. He didn’t just fucking say that. Ryan raised up his fist, then lowered it, deciding his place on the varsity team was too precious to give up for that asshole.

“You take that back right fucking now!” Ryan warned him, eyes narrowing.

“Make me,” Urie replied quickly. Before Ryan could generously fulfill Brendon’s request, there was a knock at the door. 

“Boys, open up right now!” Mr. Beckett yelled. Ryan frowned. Why was it never Mr. Saporta checking on them? 

Brendon sighed and stood up off of the bed to open the door. Ryan trailed behind him. 

“We’ve all been waiting in the lobby for 5 minutes! You’re making us all late! And of course, Gabe had faith that you wouldn’t be fighting but no, of course you are!” Mr. Beckett exclaimed, 

“Hey, it’s not what you think,” Ryan said, trying his best to keep his voice even. Urie raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, then what is it? Because I am this close to removing you from the roster,” Mr. Beckett said, gesturing with his hands just to show how close he was to kicking them off. 

“Brendon claimed that Ottawa was the greatest team of all times, and I had to set the record straight because they’ve never won a single Stanley Cup,” Ryan lied. It was believable. 

“Okay, fine,” Mr. Beckett said, but Ryan wasn’t sure he fully believed it. “You both need to come downstairs though. Now.”

The two obeyed and followed Mr. Beckett through the quiet hallways. The elevator ride was probably the most awkward thing Ryan had experienced in a lifetime. 

When the elevator doors opened, everyone was staring. This was really fucking embarrassing. 

“It’s all good,” Mr. Beckett announced. “I don’t have to kick them off of the team.”

Everyone started laughing. Ryan felt the blood rushing up into his cheeks. This was really fucking embarrassing. And all over a shirt, too. To be fair, it was a really nice shirt. They both tried to disappear into the crowd of the team, but ended up in the same place, beside Jon and Spencer.

“A flannel Ryan?” Spencer asked.

“Yeah, and?” Ryan replied defensively, going to zip up the coat he had frantically grabbed before he had left the hotel room. 

“Since when does Ryan Ross wear flannels? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were stealing Brendon’s shit,” Spencer chuckled as the group began to walk.

“That’s because he fucking did,” Brendon pouted.

“I did not! Fuck you!” Ryan raised his voice. 

“Ryan, calm the fuck down,” Spencer said, placing a hand on Ryan’s shoulder.

“No! He keeps accusing me of shit I didn’t do!” Ryan declared. He very well knew that he did, in fact, steal Brendon’s shirt. But if he acted like he believed he didn’t, maybe the others would believe he didn’t too. 

“Ryan, you might want to quiet down, people are looking,” Jon advised. 

Ryan huffed and stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. Urie looked at him almost sympathetically. 

Ryan stayed shut up for the rest of their walk, letting his brain focus on the soft browns and pure whites that the city held. He felt softer, lighter than he did at home, more at home. People passing by their group were speaking the French he knew and understood, as opposed to the strange mix of Parisian and Quebecois that the schools taught. Jon and Spencer tried to bring him into their conversation on several occasions, but Ryan preferred to look around at the city. 

They ended up in the Quartier Latin area, inside Ville-Marie and Ryan had been to Montreal enough times to know that it was the only place with anything worth doing. 

“You boys have free time for the next 5 hours! We’ll all meet here again at 4pm. Enjoy your freedom, don’t do anything that could get us fired,” Gabe announced, and everyone dispersed.

Ryan knew the area, and motioned for Spencer and Jon to follow him. Unfortunately for him, Urie took it as an invitation as well.

“So I know this great place we can go for lunch,” Ryan started, about to step out on the street. “It’s just down th-“ he started, before being pulled backwards by the collar of his shirt as a lime green smartcar was centimetres away from hitting him. He had expected it to be Jon or Spencer, but was astounded when he turned around to see that it was actually Urie holding onto the collar of Ryan’s shirt for dear life.

“What the fuck man? You could’ve died!” Urie said. Since when was Urie concerned about whether Ryan lived or died? It was probably some ploy to convince Ryan to pass the puck to him. Besides, it was a smartcar. He would’ve walked away with a couple of bruises at most.

“I forgot that all of the drivers in Montreal are assholes,” Ryan mumbled.

“Apparently you forgot jaywalking was illegal too,” Spencer joked. Ryan shot him a dirty look, and he ceased his laughing. Ryan realized that Urie’s hand was still around his collar, and their faces were still far too close for comfort.

“Fuck off,” Ryan said to him, swatting his hand away.

“This is the thanks I get for saving your life?” Brendon smirked. “Some damsel in distress you are.”

If Urie made one more homophobic comment, Ryan would definitely push him into the path of the next smatcar that drove by. Or better yet, the next pick up truck.

Ryan instead took the path with the crosswalk towards his destination, and mumbled something to himself about how much better it would be if they were in Quebec City right now.

The afternoon in Ville-Marie was nice. Ryan enjoyed himself. Jon spent a lot of time taking pictures, which made sense, he wanted to be a photographer. Ryan kind of wanted to go and visit the gay village, but he didn’t dare say that in front of anyone on the hockey team. Spencer mostly just tagged along and Urie? Well, Ryan really had absolutely no idea what Urie was doing. He was like a five year old, he’d get distracted every thirty seconds by the newest and shiniest thing. Ryan had attempted to utilize several of these opportunities to ditch him, but unfortunately, Spencer and Jon deemed that as “mean”. Ryan wished that they would stop attempting to form a friendship with Urie. He was not prepared to leave his own friend group because of that dipshit.

They were late getting back to the meeting spot, no thanks to Brendon’s need to go into every single store on their way back because he “didn’t want to miss anything”. They were expecting their coaches to chew them out to hell’s end -they had already chewed Brendon out to hell’s end for it- but there was just the varsity team standing there, no coaches anywhere in sight.

“Jon, where the hell are the coaches?” Brent called out.

“How am I supposed to know?” Jon asked.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the manager?” he replied.

“Yeah, but I’m not supposed to manage the fucking coaches!” Jon said. Surprisingly enough, this was the angriest Ryan had ever seen Jon. And the guy still had a smile on his face.

“Weren’t you guys supposed to be back here like, 20 minutes ago?” Tom commented. Did he really feel the need to be all high and mighty like that? Besides, Ryan had authority over the rest of them, it didn’t matter how late he showed up. It was Urie’s fault they were late anyways. 

“Yeah, we were Tom. We fucking know,” Ryan said through gritted teeth as conversation in the group lulled. Fuck, everyone had heard that. Ryan knew his team well enough to know that they'd get suspicious. Fuck. Someone was going to find them out. If not, Urie was going to make some homophobic joke and out them. Fuck. 

“You know what guys? This is ridiculous. I'm just gonna go and look for them,” Dan announced. Thank god for Dan taking the attention off of the mess that was Ryan and Tom. 

“Don't get killed!” Jon called. “I get stuck filing the insurance papers if you do.”

“You got it, man,” Dan replied, before waving to the group and walking off. 

Once conversation started to pick up in the group again, Ryan heard Urie ask “Trouble in paradise?” 

Ryan immediately elbowed him in the stomach as hard as he could. 

“Hey, what the fuck?” Urie said between staggered breaths. Good, Ryan was glad that he had knocked the wind out of Urie. Maybe then he'd shut his big fucking mouth. 

“You know exactly what,” Ryan replied. He was so, so sick of Urie’s homophobia. 

“I'm gonna tell Beckett! You're gonna kicked off this fucking team,” Urie tattled. 

“You'll get kicked off too,”

“You really think they're gonna kick me off of the team because you fucking assaulted me? That's rich, even from you Ross,” Urie spat. 

“Yeah? Well when I tell him what you-” Ryan was cut off by Dan’s return to the group. All of the blood was flushed out of his cheeks, he looked like he had just seen a ghost. 

“Dan! What the fuck are you doing back already?” Tom called out. 

“I-I found them,” he stuttered. 

“Great! Where are they?” Jon asked. 

“Guys, this is gonna sound really weird but you have to believe me,” Dan said, his eyes wide as one could possibly imagine. 

“Just spit it out Keyes!” Brent rolled his eyes.

“They were hooking up,” Dan dropped a bombshell. Was he really going to make up bullshit like this? Fuck, was he just as homophobic as Urie? Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was no way it was true, Beckett and Saporta were way too good to cheat on their wives. They wouldn't. This was Dan looking for attention and being a homophobe. 

“You're fucking lying,” Ryan replied.

“I'm not, I swear to god!” Dan countered. “If you don't believe me, go look for yourself Ryro. Actually don't do that, that'd be weird.”

Suddenly everyone erupted with questions and accusations. 

“Jon, you know Beckett and Saporta. Tell them there's no fucking way Dan’s right,” Ryan turned to Jon. 

“Honestly? It doesn't surprise me,” Jon replied. Ryan’s stomach dropped. He felt uncomfortable and frankly, quite sick. Was Jon a homophobe too? No way. Ryan had seen the way that Jon looked at Spencer’s ass, there was no fucking way. 

“Aren't they married?” Ryan asked, hopeful that maybe the rings around their fourth fingers had just been a figment of his imagination. 

“Yeah,” Jon replied. 

Was that the life Ryan was destined for? Being married and having to sneak off with random guys the first opportunity he got? No. No, no, no. That wouldn't happen to him. He wouldn't let it.

Speak of the devil, the two secret lovers returned. A real fucking modern Romeo and Juliet. How romantic. 

“Hey guys, sorry we’re a little late. Let's get back to the hotel, okay?” Mr. Beckett said softly. All of the boys exchanged subtle glances. No one dared say a word. 

“Wow, you guys are pretty salty considering that we’re only like, five minutes late. It's not like we would've cared if it were you,” Mr. Saporta added. Everyone cringed at his attempt to use teen slang. 

“Yeah, yeah, I'm not cool, I get it,” Mr. Saporta laughed.

They walked back to the hotel, and everyone remained entirely silent. No one dared to open whatever was standing behind door number gay. 

Their game went well, but they were a fantastic team, so that was completely unsurprising. Plus Brent was gone, so their penalty minutes were pretty much cut in half. 

Ryan was happy to know that he scored two goals and had an assist, but wasn't so happy when he got sent to the penalty box for tripping. C’mon, the guy was obviously faking! Ryan wondered when refs would start being forced to take eye exams. 

He was even more unhappy when Urie scored a hattrick. 

The final score was 6-2, which was a fairly substantial win. Urie won game MVP, which Ryan thought was totally unfair, considering he had also racked up eight penalty minutes. Ryan only got two minutes. 

“That was a good fucking game boys!” Mr. Saporta cheered as they reentered the dressing room. He wasn't met with his usual cheers, but instead, an awkward and uncomfortable silence. Except for Urie. Urie cheered like the fucking imbecile he was. 

“Alright, I guess we’ll debrief on the bus to the restaurant then,” Mr. Saporta said, sounding a little discouraged. He and Mr. Beckett left the dressing room, and there seemed to be an air of relief. 

While Jon dealt with cleaning off the whiteboards and dumping what was left of the water bottles, the rest of the dressing room erupted in gossip. 

“Aren’t they married?”

“I mean, I always knew Coach Beckett was kind of girly, but gay? No fucking way.” 

“With Coach Saporta? How much trashier could they really get?”

“Kinda funny that our coaches are fucking faggots, huh?”

Finally, Jon spoke up.

“Guys, you know what? Let them live their fucking lives. Does it affect you, does it really change your whole life to know that your coaches love one another? No, it fucking doesn’t. They’re your coaches, the fucking least you can do is respect them. God, sports aren’t just about the actual sport! It’s about a fucking team! And you guys are being fucking immature and you know what? You were lucky enough to get a spot on this team. I didn’t get that privilege. But you have less sportsmanship than the fucking football team! Let them live, and shut up about it. Stop being assholes,” and every single person in the room shut their mouth. Ryan was frankly astounded that Jon had the guts to say that, he wasn’t even on the team. Ryan was expecting the whole team to slander Jon, but the exact opposite had happened. Ryan was so, so proud of Jon for having the guts to say that. Jon might’ve been replacing his space in Spencer’s life, but in that moment, Ryan couldn’t love a person more than he loved Jon.

The bus ride to the restaurant was extremely awkward. Ryan sat next to Spencer- at the back this time, thank god- and they didn’t really talk, but Spencer pulled up this instagram page called etobicokememes and it was actually pretty funny. Ryan made a mental note to follow once they got wifi. 

The usual excited cheers of teenage victory were replaced by a low hum of people who knew something they shouldn’t. It definitely didn’t get better once they reached the St. Hubert’s.

This time, instead of having multiple tables, there was just one long one for the entire team, including the coaches. 

Ryan was happy that Saporta and Beckett had chosen to go to St. Hubert’s, Ryan was constantly telling Jon and Spencer how good it was. Plus, it was more Anglo-geared, so he wouldn’t be forced to order for his whole team. 

Ryan took a seat on Spencer’s right. Jon was to the left of Spencer, and to the right of the coaches. Ryan thought that was a pretty decent setup, until Urie and Brent sat across from them. It got even worse when Urie started complaining about how his precious vegetarian ass couldn’t eat anything on the menu. Ryan had to restrain himself from saying something stupid. 

Everything was quiet for a very, very long time. No one really had anything to say to anyone. 

“Okay kids, what the hell? We fought with the admin for months last year to get you an awesome away tournament this year, and this is how you thank us? Everything was fine the yesterday and this morning, so what’s the deal now, huh?” Gabe finally spoke up. Ryan thought that no one in their right mind would answer that question. He expected everyone to continue quietly eating their meals without any letting a peep out of their mouths. Unfortunately for Ryan, Urie was certainly not in his right mind.

“Well, you see, when you were late earlier, Dank Eyes decided to be the hero of our team and go looking for you. According to him, he found you guys hooking up, and thus, we all feel very, very uncomfortable,” he articulated very matter-of-factly. God, why was Urie so fucking stupid and why did he hate gay guys so much?   
“Yeah, plus like, aren’t you guys married?” Brent chimed in. 

There was a soft lull, only the voices of the other restaurant patrons could be heard. Saporta and Beckett locked wide eyes for half of a second, then proceeded to burst into hysterical laughter. Everyone seemed extremely confused. Finally, Mr. Beckett’s laughter died down.

“Yeah, we’re married,” he said.

“Married to each other,” Mr. Saporta laughed. This did not help the rest of the table’s extreme confusion. 

“Wait, what?” Brendon asked.

“God Bilvy, these kids are so stupid aren’t they?” he continued. Bilvy? Was that some kind of pet name?

“Hey, give them some credit. It’s not like we ever actually told them,” Mr. Beckett replied. 

“Yeah, alright kids. Your coaches got married over the summer. If any of you have a problem with it, I’m sure flip flops Walker would be happy to take your place on the team,” Mr. Saporta explained.

“I really would,” Jon perked up. 

It all made sense now. Mr. Saporta’s disappearances for “photocopies”, the weird stapler incident, the fact that Beckett was the assistant coach when he clearly knew absolutely nothing about hockey, the weird glances that the two of them had always exchanged. 

Ryan suddenly felt his heart swell. Saporta and Beckett had a life together, a future together. Maybe, just maybe, Ryan would be lucky enough to have something like they did someday. He hoped he would, anyways.

Everything was mostly back to normal, but at least Ryan could more easily pick out the homophobes on the team through who was uncomfortable. Brent was a definite yes. The rest were a little harder to tell, but the one he had suspected most was smiling this wide, bright grin. What the fuck? He was probably planning to sabotage them or something. Ryan would not let that happen. 

The rest of the night was back into routine, everyone went back to behaving normally, for the most part. Unfortunately, routine meant that Urie still refused to sleep in his own fucking bed. Ryan was not looking forward to another night of discomfort and elbow shaped bruises. 

Urie didn’t really snore that night. Ryan was thankful for that. He considered throwing him out of bed, and maybe it was all of the hope in his heart from the coaches, but Ryan didn’t really want to. Brendon looked so soft and peaceful and his breaths were in sync with Ryan’s… So instead of throwing him out, Ryan gave himself one moment and let himself run his hand through Brendon’s hair. It didn’t feel like Jac’s or Keltie’s, it wasn’t damaged from too much hair dye. It was soft and strong between his fingers. Just this once, Ryan would remove his hands from their uncomfortable position at his sides, and let them fall into the small of Urie’s bare and muscular back as he shut his eyes and attempted to fall into the same deep sleep as the boy sharing his bed.

Maybe, just maybe, one day Ryan would have what his coaches had. One day, instead of falling asleep in that same bed as a boy who hated him, he'd finally get to experience the feeling of falling asleep entwined with a boy who loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those who have never been to montreal before, they were known for their terrible traffic and driving in general. and quebec city is known for it's obnoxious jaywalkers. ryan is from quebec city


	13. Subway Doesn't Serve Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so we just managed to publish on time for you guys, although it was quite the mad dash to get here. Publication should remain as normal -thursday night or friday morning- for the time being. all french is in hovertext and canadian slang is now separated into a side fic.  
> the song of the chapter is [Montreal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pn7LT5Zv5BY) by Blue Rodeo.

Waking up to ice cold water being dumped on his head shouldn’t have been a surprise or unwarranted to Brendon, though to be fair, if Ryan had pissed on Brendon’s face to wake him up that wouldn’t have been unwarranted either. Brendon had _not_ thought this one through.

After being woken up yet again by landing flat on his face against the carpeted floor of their shared room, the logical decision should have been to admit defeat and sleep in the other bed. But Brendon was not the average logical person, and so when he pried himself off the floor his thoughts were not on the soft, comfortable bed awaiting him but rather on how he could make Ross pay for losing sleep. But unlike the night before Brendon hadn’t gotten up and seen Ryan smirking down at him. Instead Ryan’s hands were tucked against his chest, with earbuds in and his hair splayed out across the pillow. He had been fast asleep, so Brendon had done the most logical thing.

“YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT,” Ryan screamed and ripped the covers off Brendon, exposing him to the cold. Brendon clawed at them desperately, and groaned loudly. “YOU FUCKING CUT MY HAIR.”

“Give those back,” Brendon complained. “It’s really cold since you decided to dump water on me.”

“Of all the slimy, deceitful...” Ryan trailed off. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Brendon had been curling his legs up against his body for warmth, but he realized there was no sleep left for him after this and rolled onto his back so he could face Ryan.

“I’m going to kill you,” Ryan seethed. “I’m literally going to destroy you. You’ll wish you were never born.”

Brendon snorted, “As if. Now I’d like to return to sleeping which you’ve interrupted again.”

“T’en crisser,” Ryan spat. “Esti de tabarnak, j’te détèste! J’veux t’en crisser une. Va au Yable. Ugh, j’te détèste!”

Well shit, Ross was not happy.

“Are you finished?” Brendon asked, trying to not sound as guilty as he felt. God, this had been a bad idea.

“No, I’m not fucking finished!” Ryan yelled. “You cut my hair! How the hell am I supposed to go outside like this?”

Brendon sat up slowly and waited for Ryan to yell at him, but he didn’t. He just stared an Brendon, as if trying to will him out of existence.

“Hair grows back,” Brendon offered finally.

“Go fuck yourself,” Ryan told him, then spun around and walked into the bathroom. He slammed the door so loudly, Brendon felt like the whole hotel shook. It was a wonder they didn’t have any neighbors banging on their walls and doors with all the yelling Ryan had done.

It wasn’t long before Brendon gave into his guilt and got out of bed. He knocked on the bathroom door.

Ryan’s reply was quick and icy, “Leave me the fuck alone.”

Brendon sighed, “Ryan listen...”

“Don’t say my name!” Ryan yelled through the door. “And go the fuck away!”

Shit, was he crying? No way. Brendon felt sick just from thinking about that.

“Okay, but I can fix your hair. You know, if you want,” Brendon said awkwardly. “Like it won’t be the same obviously but it will be better than it is now.”

Ryan cracked the door open, “Why should I let you near my head ever again, you bastard?”

“I know how to actually cut hair, asshole,” Brendon said. “And I wouldn’t need to cut it any more to make it look terrible.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes, “What’s in it for you?”

“Your happiness, what else?” Brendon mocked. “It doesn’t matter what I get out of it. Do you want me to fix your hair or not?”

Ryan’s stare was venomous but he cautiously opened the door and let Brendon in.

Brendon rummaged through his toiletry bag for his cutting and thinning scissors, his combs and his clips, while Ryan watched him intently.

“So uh,” Brendon said. “I need to you take your clothes off and sit in the bathtub.”  
Ryan’s eyes bulged, “What the fuck?”

Despite the tense situation, Brendon couldn’t help but laugh at Ryan’s face.

“Oh my god, I’m not gonna fuck you, Ross,” Brendon chortled. “If you want hair covered pajamas though, be my guest.”

He finally found his third comb and turned back to Ross, “It itches like hell though, and I didn’t bring a cape so it’s up to you.”

Brendon couldn’t help but smirk as Ryan went back into their room to find a pair of underwear to put on. He also took the opportunity to check out Ross’s athletics toned body when he returned, but that of course had little to do with why Brendon wanted Ryan practically naked in the bathroom with him. He was worried about Ryan’s comfort, that was all.

Ryan groveled at him as he sat down in the tub, “So why the fuck do you have all this haircutting stuff? Were you planning this?”

And then it was Brendon’s turn to feel embarrassed.

“It’s actually for cosmo class,” he said self consciously. “I just leave it all in one bag.”

Ryan started laughing, and Brendon frowned.

“Oh my god,” Ryan wheezed through choppy breaths. “And you have the audacity to call me a fag?”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say that to someone cutting my hair,” Brendon said softly and Ryan quieted down immediately.

“So like, do you have a preference or do you just want me to not make your hair look horrible?” Brendon asked.

“Let’s go with the second and see where it takes us,” was all Ryan said, so Brendon shrugged clipped Ryan’s hair up at the back so that he could trim it.

It took Brendon about half an hour to fix Ryan’s hair but it was the least he could do after his rash decision to cut it the night before. Plus Ryan’s flow was disgusting, and it was no wonder 4 AM Brendon wanted it gone.

He brushed hair off of Ryan’s shoulders and gave Ryan’s hair a final ruffle to let any loose hairs fall out. Ryan’s hair was smooth and soft, and it curled around Brendon’s fingers as he shook his hand through it. There was a flash of a thought about watching TV together and running his hands through Ryan’s curls and then it was gone, leaving Brendon wondering if maybe the lack of sleep was getting to him.

As he shook out the hair at the base of Ryan’s neck, Ryan hummed happily, and Brendon withdrew his quickly as if he’d been burned.

He stepped out of the bathtub awkwardly and stepped around to get a look at Ryan from the front. He grabbed Ryan’s chin roughly and thrust it from side to side, like a rich aunt seeing seeing her nephew after four months when he’s still going though puberty.

“Hey watch it!” Ryan smacked Brendon’s hand away.

“I think you’re presentable,” Brendon said, and let Ryan stand up again from where he was kneeling in the bathtub.

Ryan stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, tilting his head to let his hair fall at different angles. Brendon hadn’t cut it too short, still leaving enough hair for Ryan to get another haircut when they got back from Montreal, but he had gotten rid of the flow at the back of Ryan’s head so that his hair was closer to the same length around his head.

“Well it certainly looks better than it did before,” Brendon said.

“It doesn’t look bad,” Ryan conceded.

“So can we let this one slide?” Brendon asked. “All is forgiven?”

Ryan glared at him, “Whatever, Urie.”

Ryan stalked out of the bathroom but Brendon stayed in and closed the door so he could take a piss.

“ _Whatever, Urie_ ,” he mocked to empty air. “Would it kill the guy to say thank you?”

He finished up and walked back into the sleeping area of the room, briefly noting the time. The hotel breakfast would close soon, and in any case they had to be in the front lobby by 9:30 AM to get to their first game.

Brendon grabbed his clothes from his suitcase and changed in the bathroom like he had been doing all weekend. It wasn’t that he was self-conscious, Ross had seen him naked before. It was just that there seemed to be something more private and intimate about changing when they were alone in a hotel room that made Brendon uncomfortable. Ryan didn’t have those same reservations though, and Brendon certainly wasn’t going to complain about that.

Unfortunately, Brendon had missed the show, and Ryan was already dressed (wearing his own clothing this time) when Brendon came out of the bathroom.

“Did you wait for me?” Brendon asked, confused as to why Ryan had bothered staying up there.

Ryan took a minute to register what Brendon had said, and then when he did, he looked surprised.

“I wasn’t waiting!” Ryan said defensively. “I was just, like, checking my phone and shit.”

“Uh huh, right.”

“Christ you’re annoying,” Ryan said, shoving his phone into his pocket and standing up. “Let’s just go.”

Brendon trailed after him, and felt himself grin as Ryan played with the back of his hair.

‘You know if I didn’t know better, I‘d say you liked the haircut,” Brendon said conversationally.

“I said it was fine,” Ryan snapped.

It might not have been the exuberant praise Brendon dreamed about getting, but it was acknowledgement. It was better than nothing. Brendon could tell Ryan liked his haircut. It suited him way better than that ugly flow and framed his face nicely. It made him look really hot, if Brendon did say so himself.

Instead of looking for Brent as they entered the little room reserved for breakfast, Brendon chose to follow Ryan to his table. Ryan glared at him, but there was no way Brendon was going to miss the chance to brag about Ryan’s haircut. After all, Ryan wasn’t going to, and it would be such a waste otherwise.

Jon and Spencer were sitting at a table for four, as if they had been expecting them.

As Ryan sat down Spencer commented “So I hear more yelling this morning -Ryan what the fuck did you do to your hair?”

Ryan’s hand flashed to his head, and he seemed almost hurt, “You don’t like it?”

Spencer was quick to correct himself, “No way, it looks great! A definite improvement. I’m just confused. I leave you for twelve hours, under a curfew no less, and you still managed to get a haircut?”

Ryan shrugged helplessly and so Brendon chose to butt in.

“I cut it for him.”

“And that’s what the yelling was about?” Spencer asked.

‘No, the haircutting was Ryan’s idea,” Brendon said quickly. “He complained about how long his hair was getting so I offered to cut it for him.”

Spencer snorted in disbelief, “Right, and he was yelling out of joy?”

“Yes!” Brendon said happily. “Wait, no.”

“What _Brendon_ means,” Ryan interjected, somehow making Brendon’s name seem like an insult. “Is that he saw a spider on the wall and started freaking out.”

“Sure, that’s definitely what happened.”  
“Leave them alone,” Jon mumbled,who still looked half asleep. “They’re getting along, you don’t need to question it.”

He waved a hand at Ryan, “Nice haircut though, looks good man.”

“Right I’m getting breakfast now,” Ryan said.

He stood up and Brendon stood up with him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ryan said icily.

“Getting breakfast, asshole,” Brendon said. “Come on, let’s go.”

As they walked away from the table, Brendon could feel Spencer’s eyes on him, and tried not to think too much.

Brendon headed straight for the waffle maker lineup, which consisted of Andy and Nick 2.0, both from the varsity hockey team. They nodded a hello to Brendon but continued their conversation without inviting him to join them. Meanwhile, Ryan wandered around looking at the rubbery eggs and tough bacon. His face twisted up in disgust as he poked an egg patty with the tongs and then left it there. Ryan ended up picking a bagel and tossing it into the toaster next to Brendon.

“Woah RyRo, your hair looks sick, dude!” Andy said. “What happened to it?”

“Thanks, uh...” Ryan trailed off.

“I cut it for him,” Brendon cut in. “I can do the same for you guys, and I accept cash and sexual favours as payment.”

“That’s totally sick,” Andy said. “Didn’t know you could cut hair.”

“I’m basically a professional,” Brendon told him.

Ryan snorted, but didn’t say anything.

Nick 2.0 flipped the waffle iron and opened it, dropping the waffle onto his Styrofoam plate with a cheap white plastic fork. They were really getting the fine dining experience here.

He complimented Ryan’s hair as he walked back to his table, and Ryan nodded in acknowledgment.

Andy kept talking to Brendon as he made his waffle, which Brendon didn’t object to. Even if the varsity team was mostly players on the Huskies, they seemed like cool guys, with the exception of Mr. Giant-Stick-Up-His-Ass.

“Hey, you’re one of the Hurricanes dudes right?” Andy asked.

“Oh uh, yeah. I’ve played your team a couple of times. We lost,” Brendon said.

“Solid,” Andy said. “You’re the guy Ross fought with in the exhibition game right?”

“Yes that would be me,” Brendon sighed angrily at the memory. That fight had started this whole mess to begin with.

“Yo RyRo, did you know Urie was the guy who got you kicked out of the exhibition game?” Andy asked Ryan as he lounged against the counter waiting for his bagel to pop. “Small world, huh?

“Yeah I know, Kalster,” Ryan replied.

“Dude, no wonder you go into a fight on the varsity bench,” Andy said. “You guys are like arch enemies basically.”

Brendon’s stomach flopped, presumably from being hungry, but as he looked up and saw the way Ryan was staring deadpan at Andy, Brendon reconsidered that. He didn’t want to be anyone’s arch enemy, especially not Ross’s.

“We’re not enemies,” Brendon heard himself saying. “We just have a rivalry. You know, to challenge each other and shit.”

“That’s pretty sweet,” Andy said. “Wish I had a rival.”

Ryan wrinkled his nose but his bagel popped out before he could say anything. He grabbed it and turned to go drop his bagel off at the table. Brendon watched sadly as he left, not even bothering to wait for him.

“Really digging the haircut, RyRo,” Andy called after him. Ryan gave him a little wave.

Soon Andy’s waffle was finished and Brendon was left alone to pour batter into the waffle iron. He saw Ryan walking back towards him and felt giddy. But then Ryan walked right past him to the coffee pot.

Tom Oakes was already at the pot, stirring sugar into his coffee and Brendon watched Ryan walk stiffly towards him. They were close enough that Brendon could hear them speaking in low tones.

“The hair looks nice,” Tom said, although there seemed to be anger behind his words.

“Not now, Tom,” Ryan hissed. He looked around him quickly to see if anyone was bothering to listen to them.

“God, you’re unbelievable,” Tom snarled. “I was just complimenting you, but guess that’s too much for you now too.”

Ryan didn’t even bother to respond, he just stared miserably as Tom walked away.

So it looked like Ryan was back on the market. Not that Brendon cared.

The waffle iron beeped and Brendon plopped his waffle on his plate, grabbed a plastic container of table syrup (as if the hotel would actually have maple syrup) and went to go find Brent. After hearing that conversation he wasn’t keen to mess around with Ryan.

As he was walking past their table however, Spencer called him over.

“Weren’t you gonna sit with us?” he asked.

Brendon looked at Ryan, who was hunched over his coffee and looking tired and moody. He had a pretty good reason not to.

But Brendon hadn’t felt like someone actually wanted to hang out with him in a while and for Spencer to ask - _Spencer_ of all people- was more than he could have hoped for. So Brendon turned off of his Brent-ward trajectory (he’d never much like the guy anyway) and settled for the fourth seat at the table. Ryan didn’t even acknowledge him, just poked at his bagel.

As soon as Brendon started digging into his waffle however, Spencer’s true motives became clear.

“So, what have you two been fighting about all the time?” Spencer asked him bluntly.

Brendon swallowed his bite of waffled, “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, we all heard you the other night, yesterday afternoon, even this morning!” Spencer snapped.

“What the fuck, Spencer?” Ryan said sharply. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

“I’m your best friend, why won’t you tell me anything anymore?” Spencer seethed.

“Doesn’t feel so nice to be on the outside does it?” Ryan sneered.

“Can we talk?” Spencer asked flatly. “You know, outside?”

“Yeah, sure let’s talk,” Ryan said standing up and grabbing his coffee. “Let’s fucking talk.”

The two walked out leaving Jon and Brendon sitting awkwardly at the table together.

“Sorry you had to be in the middle of that,” Jon said, scratching his head. “I was hoping they’d sort this out civilly.”

“What even was that?” Brendon asked.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Brendon,” Jon said. “The key to a good relationship is trust, understanding and good communication. What we just witnessed is a good example of Ryan’s poor communication and lack of trust.”

“And I was involved, how?”

“Ah,” Jon looked embarrassed for a second. “I think maybe Spencer’s not as good at communication as he thinks he is.”

“Right,” Brendon said. “I see.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much though,” Jon said. “They’ve been friends for awhile. I’m sure it’ll sort itself out.”

Brendon finished his waffle with minimal conversation with Jon, as the early morning was never the best time for conversation with either of them. Together it was practically nonexistent. Ryan and Spencer still hadn’t returned from their little heart-to-heart conversation, so Brendon headed back to his room by himself.

As he passed through the lobby on the way to elevator, he saw Ryan and Spencer standing just outside the door. Their faces were both scrunched up in anger and they were both yelling. If Brendon had walked a little closer he probably could have listened to their conversation.

He edged closer to the door until he could hear their muffled yelling. Ryan was shouting something incoherent but what Spencer said next was clear.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. If you don’t want to be my friend anymore than just fucking say it, don’t pull this passive-aggressive shit with me!” he snarled. “But for god’s sake, tell me what I did.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t want to be friends with me,” Ryan shot back. “T’as des nouveaux amis qu’tu aime plus qu’moé! Tu m’as abandonné!”

“Speak English!” Spencer screamed in frustration.

Brendon turned around immediately and left the lobby. He ran up the stairs, opened the door of his room with the key card and entered.

He didn’t even bother to turn on the TV, he just flopped down on the bed that wasn’t covered in Ryan’s hair. He hadn’t meant to get himself caught up in Ross’s drama, but it seemed that the guy was swimming in it. It was no wonder Brendon was had gotten pulled under.

He lay there for a minute, just staring at the ceiling and wondering what had compelled him to shove his nose where it didn’t belong. He shouldn’t have.

His eyes started to droop and his yawned. He still had twenty minutes before he needed to bring his equipment down to catch the bus. Curse Ross for waking him up so early.

God, he was so tired. He didn’t know why he was even bothering with the bed thing. He was just being petty. He just wanted to annoy Ross. Or be close to him. It didn’t matter much at this point, he could hardly separate the two in his own head.

He got up and changed into his shirt and tie, before throwing himself down on the bed again. It was only a varsity hockey game, nobody would notice if his shirt was wrinkled. There was no point in texting anyone, none of the Hurricanes would be up before noon unless they were forced. So he let himself fall asleep and prayed that Ryan would wake him up before they had to leave.

He didn’t have to worry though because pretty soon Ryan was slamming the hotel door as he barged in.

Brendon rolled over so he was facing Ryan, immediately noticing how angry he looked.

“Well, for once it’s not me getting in a fight with you,” he joked, too groggy to really think before he said anything.

Ryan shot him a funny look and walked over to his suitcase.

Brendon sat up and as he watched Ryan pull out his nice clothes, he had to heavily resist the urge to ask Ryan what had happened and if he was okay. It wasn’t any of his business and Ryan wouldn’t tell him anyway.

“Why are you staring at me?” Ryan said abruptly.

Brendon blinked, “Oh, I was? Sorry didn’t know looking at you was illegal now.”

“You always do that,” Ryan said. “You just stare at me. You’re such a fucking creep.”

Brendon shrugged. Having a fight over this was definitely not worth it. But he’d have to stop staring at Ross all the time. Maybe the idiot would actually figure Brendon out if he didn’t break the habit.

But fuck, it would be hard not to look at him, especially with his new haircut.

Maybe it was because of his accusation, but Ryan actually chose to change in the bathroom like Brendon had been doing all weekend.

Brendon didn’t wait up for him, just packed up his equipment. As Brendon was leaving the room, Ryan walked out of the bathroom, changed for the game. Ryan seemed surprised to see him leaving, or Brendon hoped he had. Maybe Ryan didn’t mind having him around too.

He left the room anyway and went down using the elevator. He still had ten minutes before they needed to leave but that was better than to repeat what had happened yesterday when he and Ryan had been late.

Mr. Beckett and Mr. Saporta were already waiting in the lobby and Brendon briefly considered pleading them to switch rooming assignments. Not because he minded, but Ryan would certainly be happier if Brendon didn’t have to share with him anymore.

Ugh, this lack of sleep was really getting to him. Why should he care about what would make Ryan happy?

Once everyone was down they started to board the bus and Brendon tried to resist the urge to look for Ryan. He was supposed to stop staring at him after all.

However when Mr. Beckett was doing attendance, Ryan wasn’t there.

“Ryan?” Mr. Beckett called and frowned at the boys in front of him. “Has anyone seen Ryan?”

Brendon stood up and walked to the front of the bus, “He was right behind me as I was leaving,” he told Mr. Beckett.

Mr. Beckett and Mr. Saporta exchanged a glance.

“I can go up and check our room if you’d like,” Brendon offered. “I can run.”

Mr. Beckett nodded, “Sure, but be quick, we have some goalies who need to put their equipment on, you know.”

As he was leaving the bus he heard Mr. Saporta say, “Hey, you’re actually picking up some stuff about hockey.”

He didn’t hear the response, but it made him feel warm and light inside. It made him feel that if he ever ended up with a guy, it would be okay, and he could have a future with him.

He took the stairs two at a time, and soon after he was opening the door to his and Ryan’s room.

“Ross?” he called as he entered. “The bus is going to leave without you!”

He didn’t see Ryan immediately but then Ryan poked his head up from behind the bed. Ryan was seated, curled up behind the bed, his arms hugging his long, gangly legs to his chest.

“Shit,” Brendon said quietly. It definitely looked like Ryan had been crying.

But no, he reevaluated as he got closer. Ryan wasn’t crying, just scribbling into a black notebook that he closed quickly as Brendon approached.

“Dude, come on, we’re going to be late,” Brendon told him.

Ryan nodded slowly and then stood up. He tossed the notebook into his suitcase and grabbed his hockey bag.

“I’m coming,” he said slowly.

They rode the elevator down in silence, although Brendon kept glancing at Ryan anxiously. The other boy had retreated into himself, his expression blank and unfeeling, but his shoulders drooped and his head hung down. His fingers drummed the side of his legs as his eye stared almost unseeing at the elevator door in front of him.

Standing next to him was like being alone.

When they got on the bus, after putting Ryan’s bag into the compartment underneath, Mr. Beckett confronted them.

“From now on you two better stay together,” he said harshly. “I mean that. If something like this happens again...”

He trailed off, as if to hint at some great evil, but Brendon knew there was nothing Beckett could actually do about this. Especially since Mr. Saporta didn’t seem to give a shit.

Brendon wasn’t too surprised when Ryan walked right past Spencer’s seat and continued to the back of the bus. People moved around to open a spot for him and he sat next to Alex Greenwald. It was pretty amazing Ryan still hadn’t run out of friends yet. He seemed to be going through them like firewood.

Brent had saved him a seat even though Brendon had ditched him at breakfast.

“You hanging out with Ross and his little bitches now?” Brent asked him.

“Nah, just got roped into a shitshow. Ross is such a drama queen,” Brendon said, although he couldn’t help but glance back at Ryan, who was staring solemnly out the bus window.

Brent laughed, “God, you can say that again.”

Brendon wished he hadn’t said it in the first place, and just tried to focus on his pre-game ritual.

They won the game, although it was close. It might not have been if Ross had been able to acknowledge the fact that there were four other guys on his line instead of just three. It didn’t seem to matter how obvious Brendon tried to make himself, or how many times he passed the puck to Ryan. He would rather have a turnover then pass to Brendon.

He tried to not let it bother him. He tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. But by the tenth time Ryan lost possession, Brendon was seriously considering picking another fight with him on the bench.

He wasn’t a bad player, he couldn’t be, he’d made it this far. But even if Ryan hated him, could he really see no value in Brendon’s playing? Did he really consider Brendon to be too risky to pass to? He wondered if his dad was right about him.

They just managed to win the game because of Brendon. At least he could walk out of the game with the undeniable claim that he had actually contributed positively to the game despite whatever Ryan thought. Brendon had scored the winning goal. Not Ryan. Ryan hadn’t even assisted him.

With a final score of 5-4 for the Bulls, their team skated off the ice partially elated from victory but weighed down by the knowledge that they hadn’t played very well.

“What the hell was that?” Mr. Saporta yelled as he walked into the dressing room.

The team stared at him quietly from their benches around the room.

“It was bullshit,” Mr. Saporta exclaimed. “I’ve seen Timbits with more teamwork than you. Pass the goddamn puck! You’ve got four other players out there to support you. In the next game you better use them or we’re going to lose.”

Maybe Brendon imagined it, but Mr. Saporta seemed to be staring meaningfully at Ryan. Now if only Ross would take Mr. Saporta’s advice. Fighting with practically everyone on your line before a game certainly didn’t improve the gameplay.

Brendon striped his equipment off and headed for the showers. He wasn’t riding the bus with all of his post-game sweat still clinging to his skin.

The team headed back to the hotel to drop off their equipment after the game, before they were going back into Montreal for lunch again. He and Ryan took turns changing in the bathroom, and then they walked down to the lobby together like their teachers had instructed them. Brendon didn’t even try to engage with Ryan, too tired and annoyed with him to bother.

They walked back to the Quartier Latin like they had the previous day. Brendon trailed behind the group as he took in the city. Even if he had been there the day before, the city was unfamiliar still and Brendon was amazed by all the French speakers and signs around. As people walked by he’d pick up snippets of conversation. It was strange hearing Ryan’s accent spoken everywhere. Just two days ago he’d thought it was Ryan mispronouncing words but no, it was just his dialect. Brendon had never met someone who was Quebecois before, but it seemed unlikely that Ryan would be up for answering any questions, especially for him.

Mr. Saporta and Mr. Beckett left them at the same spot as the had the day before, with the warning to be back in an hour so that they could go to the Biodome before their next game.

Brendon intended to find Spencer and Jon to go get lunch, since Ryan didn’t seem to be on speaking terms with either of them. Jon and Spencer seemed to like him, and enjoyed having him around, although neither would say it out loud for Ryan’s sake.

However as he was about to go find them, Ryan accosted him.

“Look man, we have to stick together,” he grumbled. “Beckett said so.” 

“Beckett’s not here,” Brendon pointed out, gesturing around.

“So?” Ryan said. “You always do what people tell you to do anyway.”

“Fine. Sure. Okay, let’s hang out Ross,” Brendon said angrily, but he secretly hoped that maybe Ryan was warming up to him. “Are Spencer and Jon coming with us?”

Ryan looked away, “No.”

“So, is this like a date-” Brendon shut up immediately at the death glare Ryan was sending him.

“Right, so where are we going?” Brendon said instead when Ryan still hadn’t said to him.

“That Subway,” Ryan said stiffly. “We’ll get our food, sit at a table and not talk to each other for the rest of the hour.”  
“Wow, you really know how to treat a guy,” Brendon joked then cringed when he received the death glare once again.

They walked the Subway at the end of the street. There were a few people in line already.

“So what do you want, I can order for you,” Ryan said.

“I can order myself!” Brendon scowled.

Ryan considered him, “That’s true, everyone in Montreal speaks English.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Brendon contended.

“I bet she’s gonna switch to English as soon as you say ‘Bonjour’,” Ryan said, gesturing to the person behind the counter.

“Maybe I won’t say bonjour then,” Brendon countered. Ryan rolled his eyes.

The server addressed him and Ryan responded quickly in French.

“Ouais, j’voudrai ‘a dinde sul’ pain fines herbes italiennes pis fromage,” he said. Brendon blinked, and shook his head. He was so fucked.

“Six pouces ou douze?” the server asked.

Ryan stared at her for a second, “T’es serieuse? Douze pouces.”

And then he refocused his disapproval back to Brendon, smirking.

Well, now Brendon had to show him up.

“Bonjour, comment j’peux-tu t’aider?” she asked, and fuck Brendon could barely understand what that meant.

“Bonjour,” he said back, and looked at the menu in front of him, unsure of what to say next.

She just smiled at him and repeated herself in English, “Hello, how can I help you?”

Ryan snorted beside him, but Brendon had never felt so relieved in his life. He ordered his whole meal in English with no issues.

As Brendon went to pay for his usual sandwich/drink/cookie combo he made a horrifying discovery.

“Hey Ross? Do you Quebecers not have raspberry cheesecake cookies?”

Ryan wrinkled his nose and scanned the cookie display, “You can read, can’t you? It’s not there.”

“God, and here I was starting to have some respect for French Canadians. Then you go out and betray me like this,” Brendon said.

Ryan didn’t even reply, he just rolled his eyes. When was Brendon going to learn to stop making inopportune jokes.

They sat down at a table, and before Brendon had even unwrapped his sandwich Ryan had his phone out to indicate that he had no interest in a conversation with Brendon. Unluckily for Ryan, it wasn’t just anyone Ryan was trying to ignore, it was Brendon Boyd Urie and  Brendon wasn’t so easily swayed.

“So is Quebec really different from Montreal?” Brendon asked. “Cus you won’t stop talking about it.”

“God, your Anglo pronunciation. They’re not the same place,” Ryan said testily, opening the bag of chips he’d bought.

“Okay, but Edmonton and Toronto are the same, other than the fact that traffic is worse in Toronto,” Brendon said. “And they’re practically on opposite sides of the country. What makes these two cities so different? They’re both in Quebec right?”

“I’m not even dignifying that with an answer,” Ryan said.

“Do you want me to talk about something else?” Brendon asked. “I have so many other questions I want to ask you.”

“I want you to shut up and never speak to me again,” Ryan told him.

“Careful, if you’re mean on the first date I won’t go on a second one,” Brendon warned.

“Fucking hell, will you lay off already? We’re not on a date, I’m not gay and I don’t appreciate you acting like we’re friends who can joke around together,” Ryan exclaimed. “We’re not friends, and I don’t like you.”

Brendon narrowed his eyes, “I’m not even being mean to you, what is your fucking problem? You dragged me out to lunch with you, not the other way around. I’m here because I’m a nice fucking person. I don’t owe you shit. The least you could do is let me have some fun. Surprisingly, I have other people I’d rather be with right now.”

“You at least owe me respect! Don’t make homophobic jokes about me!” Ryan maintained.

Brendon stared at him in disbelief. Ryan thought he was homophobic? Sure, he’d slipped up that one time, but like he hadn’t had that slur thrown at him a million times. Like it didn’t actually apply to him. And here he thought he was the most obvious person ever.

Then he got over his disbelief and started laughing.

“Holy shit, you think I’m homophobic? Are you serious?” he wheezed.

Ryan flushed, “Fuck off, I may not be gay but I know homophobia when I see it.”

That set Brendon off laughing again. Ryan’s face kept getting redder and redder.

“You’re ‘straight’ and you’re telling me what’s homophobic? I can’t believe this is happening,” Brendon shook his head, laughter still on his lips.

“Fuck off,” Ryan repeated.

“Okay, I’m done,” Brendon said, taking a deep breath.

But then he looked at Ryan’s face again, a mixture of anger and confusion, “Oh my god, nope.”

And then he started laughing yet again.

“You’re so fucking immature,” Ryan spat.

“Sorry, this is too good,” Brendon said between laughter.

When he finally stopped laughing he refocused on Ryan, who seemed ready to dump his medium Pepsi on Brendon’s head.

“Okay, but I’m immature?” Brendon asked. “Why am I eating lunch with you, Ross? Hmm?”

“What part of ‘Never speak to me again’ is unclear to you?” Ryan replied, picking at his sandwich.

“So is it about Spencer?” Brendon inquired politely.

“Excuse me?”

Brendon gestured around the restaurant, “You know, the reason I’m here? Is it because you got in a fight with Spencer?”

Ryan said nothing, but his eyes narrowed with hostility.

Brendon decided to poke the bear with a stick, “So it’s about Tom, then?”

“That’s none of your fucking business,” Ryan snarled, his fist wrapping tightly around his sub sandwich.

“Hmm, probably both. Any other friends you started drama with that I should be worried about?” Brendon asked, and then regretted it immediately when Ryan picked up his food and moved to another table.

He cursed himself for falling into their routine again when he’d been trying so hard to not fuck things up between him and Ross. He couldn’t be kicked off the varsity team, his dad would kill him. But as soon as Ryan was even slightly hostile, it was like Brendon switched to automatic. He didn’t need to think much to piss Ryan off. He knew exactly which buttons to push so that Ryan felt it the most. He hated that. He hated how could so effortlessly send Ryan over the edge. But he’d tried being nice and Ryan just didn’t want it. He wasn’t even open to the idea of being friends with Brendon. Nothing Brendon did made any difference.

He bit into his sandwich and glanced over at Ryan, who had found a table on the other side of the restaurant. Maybe he should give up, and accept that Ryan just didn’t think of him the same way. God, Brendon was such an idiot.

He ate his sandwich in an uncomfortable silence, although he did occasionally look over at Ryan and hope that the other boy would look back at him. He never did. Brendon couldn’t just get up and apologize either. He just hoped that his sad puppy dog eyes would be enough to convince Ryan that he was sorry and to come back to his table.

It wasn’t.

He pulled out his phone as he ate his double chocolate chip cookie (it really was fucked up that the Quebecois didn’t have raspberry cheesecake) and cringed at the number of texts he’d received since he’d last checked his phone. Or rather, the number of texts in the group chat.

He didn’t even bother scrolling up to the last time he’d checked the chat, just tried to get an understanding of what was currently happening.

_Brent: this tourney really does suck ass though, this team is so shit_

_Ian: lol_

_Shane: arent smith and ross the top drafts tho_

_Brent: ross is such a little faggot and he hates the whole team_

_Dallon: Brendon’s a good player_

_Kenny: yeah don’t diss my dude urie like that_

_Ian: uries not that good_

_Brent: he plays on rosss line and ross hates him so he never passes_

_Kenny: dude hes better than you_

_Brent: we almost lost the last game because of them_

_Shane: they got kicked for fighting on the bench right_

_Brent: yah ross fucking slugged him out of nowhere_

_Dan: tf are yall talking about it’s like 11am this is too early_

_Shane: brent hates the bulls_

_Kenny: go back to bed daniel_

_Brent: am i not allowed to rant for like 2 secs before someone else comes up_

_Dallon: i’m listening brent_

_Shane: yeah i dont give a fuck_

_Kenny: DAMN THAT’S COLD_

_Kenny: FUCKING REKT BRO_

_Ian: omfg kenny_

_Brent: shut the fuck up_

_Dan: i cant believe you woke me up for this shit_

_Dallon: how’s brendon doing in the tourney?_

_Brent: he scored a hat trick the other day_

_Kenny: THATA BOY_

_Kenny: they grow up so fast_

_Brendon: did brent tell you guys he got suspended again_

_Kenny: YOOOOOOO BRENDO_

_Dallon: hey brendon!_

_Shane: hey man_

_Dan: what he do_

_Brendon: checked a kid from behind_

_Ian: wow scum bag_

_Brent: hey fuck off he had it coming_

_Dan: sure brent_

_Brendon: meh we dont need him anyway_

_Ian: lmao_

_Brent: hey fuck you!_

_Kenny: ooooooo rekt again_

_Brent Wilson has removed Kenny Harris from the group_

_Shane: dude he wasn’t even that bad today_

_Dan: even i wouldnt have kicked him_

_Dallon: #BringBackKenny_

_Dan: #BringBackKenny_

_Brendon: #BringBackKenny_

_Ian: #BringBackKenny_

_Brent: fine whatever fags_

_Dan: nice_

_Dan Pawlovich has added Kenny Harris to the group_

_Kenny: get shreked brent_

_Brent: die bitch_

Brendon looked up from his phone to see Ryan looming over his table.

“It’s time to go,” he said motioning vaguely to the door.

“Yeah, okay sure,” Brendon said and crumpled his packaging into a ball to carry to the garbage.

As they were leaving Brendon figured it was as good a time as any to make peace again.

“Hey Ryan?” he said.

“The ‘Don’t talk to me’ policy is still in place,” Ryan sneered.

“Okay, but like, I really don’t mean half the stuff I say,” Brendon said sheepishly. “I’m not really trying to upset you.”

“Could have fooled me,” Ryan said, his eyes narrowing.

“Look, you’re just really shitty to me, and I’m trying but you’re not,” Brendon argued. “Like we don’t have to be friends, but you could at least be nice to me every once and awhile. It won’t kill you.”

“Be nice to you? Are you fucking serious? You insinuate that I’m a fucking drama queen, and that I destroy all my friendships and then tell me to be nice to you?” Ryan stared at him in disbelief. “J’en r’viens pas.”

Brendon bit his tongue and began counting in his head. He wouldn’t tell Ryan he might as well be nice to him because he could use all the friends he could get at this point. He wouldn’t fuck everything up this time.

“Sorry okay? I didn’t mean it,” Brendon grumbled. “Would be nice if you’d apologize every once and awhile though I’m not the only one fucking up here.”

“Oh really?”

“Takes two to tango,” Brendon shrugged.

“Well, the way I see it is you’re a fucking asshole and I’m just retaliating,” Ryan said. “Anyway, if this is supposed to be an apology it fucking sucks.”

“I hope you’re nicer to Spencer when he expects an apology,” Brendon retaliated without thinking - _fuck_ , he said he wasn’t gonna act like that anymore.

Ryan didn’t react just stared at him blankly and then he looked away quickly. Oh fuck, Brendon had really done it this time.

About half of the team was already waiting at the meeting spot and Mr. Beckett and Mr. Saporta were actually there on time. Ryan walked about from Brendon, towards Greenwald and his group of grade twelves. If he could have hung out with Michael, Jason and Alex why had he even bothered with Brendon?

Brendon kicked the sidewalk lightly, his toe scratching against the sidewalk. He probably looked like such a loser standing off to the side of the main hockey group. Where were Jon and Spencer? He tried to to seem like he was desperately waiting for them to show up, but he was already starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Hey Brendon!” Jon called and Brendon tried not to whirl around in excitement. He couldn’t stop from grinning though.

“Hey! Where did you guys eat?” he asked.

“We found a McDicks,” Spencer said. “What did you end up doing?”

“Ryan dragged me to that Subway over there,” Brendon said.

Spencer huffed, “God, he’s so petty.”  
“What happened between you two this morning?” Brendon asked.

Jon groaned, “Don’t get him started, he’s been bitching about Ryan for the last hour.”

“He’s a dick, I can’t believe him,” Spencer exclaimed. “He didn’t even have the decency to speak English most of the time we were arguing.”

“He does that a lot,” Brendon agreed.

Jon snorted, “Like you even noticed until the other day.”

“Well, when I look back on it!” Brendon defended. “He used to swear at me in French all the time on the ice.”  
“Used to?” Spencer repeated skeptically.

“We haven’t played each other recently,” Brendon said. “Okay, but for real, what did he do this time?”

Spencer glanced at the gathering hockey crowd, “I’ll tell you about it on the bus.”

They boarded the bus and Spencer and Brendon sat together near the front of the bus, while Jon sat in the seat in front of them. Ryan sat at the very back, as far away from them as he could get.

Their teachers took attendance and the bus pulled away to take them to the Montreal Biodome.

“So? What’s the deal?” Brendon asked.

“Okay it started off small you know, but lately he’s been ignoring me all the fucking time, and blowing me off too,” Spencer rambled. “He’s just so fucking moody and he won’t tell me what’s up. I’m trying to help him, you know? He’s my best friend. But he’s acting like he doesn’t want to be.”

“So that’s what you were trying to talk to him about this morning?” Brendon confirmed.

“Yes! But then when I tried to talk about it he just started going on about how I never had time for him anymore, and how I’d rather spend time with Jon than with him! It’s like as soon as I start making other friends and my whole life doesn’t revolve around him and his problems anymore than he wants nothing to do with me!” Spencer continued. “It’s so fucking unfair how he’s allowed to have a girlfriend and a bunch of other friends, but I’m not! He didn’t even congratulate me on getting a girlfriend or anything! Like, even you did and we weren’t even friends at the time!”

“I think he’s jealous,” Brendon said.

“Of my girlfriend? As if,” Spencer replied.

“I just mean in general, you know? Like all of his friendships seem kind of messy right now,” Brendon told him. “I don’t really know, I’m just watching from the outside.”

Spencer frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Oh, well if he hasn’t told you...”

“See that’s the kind of shit I’m talking about! He hates you, and you still know more about him than I do apparently,” Spencer grumbled.

“Well, I think Oakes is really pissed off at him right now,” Brendon said, and even mentioning Tom’s name made Brendon’s gut twist uncomfortably. “Couldn’t tell you why though.”

“What the actual fuck,” Spencer said bluntly. “Now I’m even more pissed off.”

“So like, do you guys hate me too, or is it just Ross?” Brendon asked.

“I think you’re a great guy, Brendon,” Jon replied from the seat in front of them.

“Yeah, I don’t have any issues with you either,” Spencer said. “Unlike Ryan, I don’t let my rivalries leave the ice. But as Ryan’s best friend I felt obligated to not hang out with you.”

“Though since we’re apparently not best friends anymore, I guess that means you’re fair game,” he said thoughtfully.

“So... can I walk around the Biodome with you guys?” Brendon asked hopefully.

“Well, I don’t see why not,” Jon said, and Brendon felt his chest expand with excitement. Maybe he would never win over Ross, but it seemed like he’d make some friends anyway.


	14. Quiet Contemplations and Careful Advice, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is another split chapter because it is too long... now we know this chapter is A Lot but there's a light at the end of the tunnel. trust us, you've almost made it. ryan will eventually stop being so mean. like probably. the next chapter is going to be a week late  
> this week's music was a bit harder to pick but nic eventually settled on [Young Lions](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUDyD5gYWmQ) by Constantines

“I’m going out,” Ryan announced and the door of their shared hotel room slammed behind him. Brendon just managed to look up in time to see it close. He had the room to himself. Ryan would definitely be back in twenty minutes to grab his equipment before they needed to leave for the semi-finals.

But what should he do with that time? He was tired of his phone, and he was way too lazy to go find Spencer and Jon. Plus, he’d already spent the day with them, and didn’t want to overstay his welcome. Sure, they’d both said that they liked him, but everyone grew tired of him eventually. Even his parents.

He rolled over and stretched out along the bed before letting out a huge yawn. Man, he was tired. He could sleep or something. Probably a productive use of his time, considering he and Ryan would probably fight over beds again that night. Instead, he glanced at the pile of clothing that surrounded his suitcase. After some contemplation he groaned and got up to pick up his shit. At least then Ryan couldn’t get mad at him about it.

As he shoved his scattered clothing back into his suitcase, he eyed Ryan’s neatly closed suitcase to his side. Maybe it had been an accident but Ryan had left the black notebook sitting on top that Brendon had seen him writing in earlier that day.

In any other circumstance Brendon probably would have let it be but it looked like a journal and Brendon was running out of ideas on how to make Ryan like him. If he could just get anything, a hint of how Ryan felt about him then maybe he could fix everything between them.

He looked around the room guiltily despite being the only one there, before he crept over to Ryan’s suitcase and picked up the journal. He quelled his guilt and then flipped to the most recent page. It wasn’t a journal entry, not really, just scribbles, and lines. He saw Spencer’s name repeated a couple of times in a mess of text that blacked out the whole page. It was completely illegible and overlapping, more like a piece of art than writing. The knot in Brendon’s stomach was enough to make him realize that maybe he was getting in way over his head.

He flipped to the previous page which was less scribbling and just Ryan’s blocky handwriting in all upper case. It wasn’t a journal entry either. It was a poem.

_ I will revolutionize love. _

_ No longer will I conform _

_ To this _

_ Ridiculous preset that society has handed me. _

_ I will wear his beardburn proudly on my face. _

_ I will start a revolution in his eyes _

_ And crumble establishment _

_ In his kiss. _

Brendon’s hands were trembling as he read it; as he realized. Sure, he knew Ross liked guys, he’s seen him and Tom in the bathroom, but somehow this poem was the most undeniable proof he’d found that he might have a decent shot with Ross. You know, if he could get Ryan to stop hating him for two seconds.

He started to flip through the notebook and it was full of poetry. He found some the was definitely about Keltie (nothing nice) and some that seemed like it could be about Jon or Spencer. Some of the poetry Brendon couldn’t make any sense of, as he sat on the floor flipping through pages. One of the pages was dog eared and Brendon flipped to that one and found a poem for Remembrance Day, with whole lines and passages scribbled out and added in the margins. 

The only thing Brendon didn’t know how to deal with was this mysterious “He” that Ryan would refer to in some of his poems. Did he have a secret boyfriend? Maybe they were about Tom?    
He flipped back to the first poem he’d found and let his fingers trace over the letters. Maybe someday Ryan would write poetry about him? Maybe he had already?

Just as Brendon was about to check for something, anything about him, he heard the card slide in the door and he dropped the book on Ryan’s suitcase and threw himself across the floor to his own suitcase.

He made it just in time and Ryan opened the door to see Brendon sitting peacefully on the floor folding clothes into his suitcase.

Ryan stared at him, his eyebrows scrunched together and his mouth prepared to ask a question. Brendon beat him to it though.

“I knew if I left it, you’d be bitching about my mess in no time,” he said.

Ryan nodded and went into the bathroom without another word. Brendon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and finished cleaning up his clothing. He quickly changed into his collared shirt and dress pants before Ryan could get out of the bathroom. He’d packed his equipment into his bag in preparation for the next game already and so he just had to wait for Ryan to pack up. He didn’t need Beckett on his ass again

Ryan came out of the bathroom and stared at Brendon again.

“You don’t need to wait for me,” he said icily.

“I shouldn’t have to wait for you,” Brendon corrected. “But apparently I do, and whose fault is that?”

“Yeah, shut the fuck up,” Ryan grumbled. He changed in the bathroom while Brendon scrolled absently through Twitter.

They stood silently in the elevator together as they rode down to the lobby to meet their team. They were early for a change and Mr. Beckett nodded sagely as the stepped off the elevator. The team boarded the bus, and Brendon picked a place at the front with Jon and Spencer. Ryan glared at him as he walked past, but he didn’t comment on Brendon forcing himself into Ryan’s place in his old friend group.

Jon and Spencer talked amicably for most of the ride to the arena, while Brendon put his pump up playlist on and bobbed along to the music. They were heading into the semi finals, and if they lost this game they’d be out of the tournament. He tried to bring his focus in, to prepare himself for the game. He closed his eyes and counted his breathing.

“Woah, Brendon’s going total zen on us,” Jon joked.

“Pre-game ritual,” Brendon mumbled, trying to keep his focus on his breathing.

“That’s way more hardcore than me,” Spencer said. “I just need to put my equipment on in a certain order. I’m no Glenn Hall, that’s for certain.”

“Once I tape my stick, the stick can’t touch the ground until I get on the ice,” Jon added.   
“You just play houseleague, why does it matter?” Spencer said. 

Jon shrugged, “Houseleague is way more intense than you think. Not that you would know, Mr. Big-Shot OHL draft goalie.”

Spencer blinked, “Sorry.”   
“It’s fine. I know what you meant.”   
“Can you guys be quiet for like a minute? I’m never sitting with you before a game again,” Brendon complained.

“Someone’s serious,” Spencer teased.

“You guys are totally wrecking my vibe,” Brendon whined.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Jon said. “Wouldn’t want the Princess over here to play a bad game because Spence and I don’t know how to shut up.”

“You really don’t,” Brendon agreed.

“Fine, go back to your meditating,” Spencer said. 

“I will,” Brendon said and closed his eyes again.

Their bus pulled up to the arena several minutes later, and the team piled out to retrieve their equipment from the compartments under the bus. Brendon mourned his childhood tower bag as he swung his hockey bag over his shoulder. 

The team warmed up quickly and then changed for the game. The game started out fine. With Brent gone, there were no major penalties, but Ryan and Brendon’s lack of teamwork made scoring difficult even if they were both good players. Ryan’s unwillingness to pass to Brendon was obvious - at least more so than usual. By the end of the first half, the score was tied, 0-0. 

As Brendon returned to the bench, he chewed his mouthguard in frustration. They had missed so many opportunities to score because Ryan refused to act like they were on the same team. In fact, if Brendon was any judge he would say that Ryan was acting like he was the only person on his team -period. 

Mr. Saporta started chewing them out before his line even had a chance to sit down.

“You boys call that hockey? I didn’t see a single pass. You’re on the same team! Honestly!” 

Mr. Beckett patted his arm sympathetically.

“Listen closely,” Mr. Saporta said. “When you line goes out again, I want you to set up for popcorn.”

“But we’ve never done that in a actual game before,” Ryan protested.

Brendon smiled smugly to himself. Popcorn was an offensive zone entry play that would involve Ryan passing the puck to Brendon for a snapshot goal. They’d practised lots of plays together and during the practices they’d always turned out fine, but Ryan seemed hesitant to use any of the practised plays. 

Brendon turned back to the game where their defensive line was attempting a breakout. He cringed as the right winger of the other team top-shelved it, scoring the first goal of the game.

The third line went out to take the faceoff and Brendon could feel himself holding his breath, praying that they wouldn’t let another goal be scored on Spencer.

“Mr. Saporta please!” he heard off to his side and saw Ryan turned around, talking quietly with their coaches.

“Was I not clear, Ross?” Mr. Saporta said, his eyebrows raised and his expression sour. “I’m the coach and we’re doing the plays I say we are.”

“Urie can’t do it though! Popcorn is just going to cost us another goal! He can’t play hockey and he can’t skate fast enough to beat their defense,” Ryan said. “Put somebody else on my line.”

“We’re not changing the lineup in the middle of a tournament,” Mr. Saporta said, scandalised. “And you’re gonna do the play I tell you to.”   
“Fine. Whatever. If it goes badly then don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Ryan spat and turned back around to face the game.

Brendon could feel his stomach drop as he listened to them. They all thought he was worthless. Even the coaches. His father was right, he would never make it to the NHL. He wouldn’t even make the OHL. Nobody thought he was any good at hockey.

The referee blew his whistle and Brendon’s line skated out onto the ice. Brendon’s body felt weighed down and clumsy. He felt uncertain of himself. How did popcorn go again?

As the puck dropped Brendon snapped out of it. He resolved himself to play better than he’d ever had before. To show Ross he could do it, that he was worth his time.

Alex and Ryan set up for the pass, and Brendon moved into position. But then the defenseman moved in front of him, blocking his pass and Brendon had no choice but to retreat back and set up for a slap shot, his worst shot. 

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Ryan’s stick came down hard against the puck, and it was flying towards him, way harder than Ryan should pass a puck to his own teammate. And he hadn’t passed in front of Brendon, to his awaiting stick. He’d passed directly to him, clearly aiming right for the blade of Brendon’s skate. 

Brendon tried to shift his stick to catch the puck but he wasn’t moving fast enough, and as his twisted his stick around his body, he tilted off balance. The horror on his face as he went tumbling to the ice -not even because of a check, but because of his own clumsy skating- was uncomparable to anything he’d felt in awhile. 

The defenseman grabbed the puck and passed it up and Brendon was up in a flash, skating after him. He caught up and tripped the winger with his stick. The whistle blew and he sighed. A penalty for sure. It was done. He’d just proved everyone who had ever doubted him right. He felt sick. 

“What the fuck Ross!” he said skating over to the other boy. “What the fuck is your problem! You won’t pass to me and when you do it’s fucking lousy.”

“Don’t blame me for your fancy skating over there,” Ryan smirked. “Maybe you’re just a lousy player.”

“Fuck you!” he screamed, and skated to the penalty box. God, he hadn’t even done anything wrong and Ross was being a piece of shit to him, as usual. It was like he had no common decency, no sense of congeniality. 

They managed to hold the score during the power play, and as Ryan skated back to the bench he felt the need to flip him off despite his hockey gloves.

They managed to score two more points before the game ended, scoring the second one two minutes before the final buzzer. The whole rest of the game Brendon felt as if he was totally useless out of on the ice. None of his teammates passed to him, and the only time he touched to puck was poke checks. It was like he wasn’t even on the ice. He felt so invisible and useless. Brendon wasn’t sure when he’d ever played that badly. 

Alex Greenwald got the MVP award, and then the team retreated back to their changeroom to celebrate their victory.

They removed their equipment and Brendon grabbed one of the first showers. They weren’t going back to the hotel before grabbing dinner as their game had been later than the day before. 

The whole team showered and then piled into the bus.

When the bus pulled into the parking lot of Boston Pizza, Brendon had to restrain his laughter. Boston Pizza was such an standard hockey celebration place. On top of that, his teachers had probably gone out of their way to find to the only Boston Pizza in Montreal.

The clambered out of the bus and into the restaurant, chattering as they went. Brendon trailed behind Jon and Spencer, who chose a seat by the coaches. They had a long table set up like they had the night before at St. Hubert’s. 

Much to Brendon’s dismay (and simultaneous pleasure -he was always conflicted) Ryan and his grade twelve friends sat next to them. Ryan glared at them as he sat down but didn’t say anything. Obviously the team wasn’t yet aware of the feud between Ryan and Spencer yet. 

“Spencer? We can move if you want to,” Jon whispered.

“Why would we do that, Jon?” Spencer said, his smile strained. “ _ We  _ haven’t done anything wrong.”

“If you say so,” Jon agreed. 

Brendon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Even if he didn’t like Ryan, there was something wrong about Ryan and Spencer fighting each other.

“So about that game...” Brendon put out awkwardly.

“Oh my god,” Spencer groaned. “That was such a lucky game. We shouldn’t have won. You all played like shit.”

Jon laughed, “That’s how I was feeling about the game.”

“I, of course, played fantastically and all of you owe me your fucking lives,” Spencer said and then glanced quickly at their teachers. “Pardon my French.”

Mr. Beckett and Mr. Saporta weren’t paying attention but Ryan snorted. Spencer scowled and Ryan covered his mouth and turned away.

“Can’t you guys just like, fight it out and make up?” Brendon asked.

Spencer tutted sympathetically, “Oh you poor naive child, still victim to the throes of hypermasculinity. My hormones do still allow me to hold grudges if I want to.”

Jon snickered.

“Um, excuse me, who wore a dress for our English project? Was it either of you numbskulls?” Brendon asked innocently. “Oh wait, it was me.”

Jon and Spencer laughed and Brendon beamed.

They went quiet and the conversation next to them rose in volume.

“I’m honestly so insulted,” Ryan was saying. “Like this is an insult to my French culture, you know? We could have gone anywhere but we found the only Boston Pizza in the whole damn city. It’s fucking stupid.”

Brendon, Jon and Spencer rolled their eyes.

“Yo, Ross!” Brendon called.

“What?” Ryan snapped.

“You made me go to Subway, you fucking dipshit. That’s even worse because your country doesn't have the good cookie,” Brendon grinned.

Ryan’s friends snickered, as did Spencer and Jon.

“You’re from fucking Alberta, the only thing you know about culture is pickup trucks and the destruction of the environment for profit,” Ryan said.

Brendon laughed, “You forgot about country music.”

“Whatever asshole,” Ryan grumbled and returned to his own conversation.

A server came around to the table to collect drink orders and when he left Brendon stood up.

“Bathroom,” he said and Spencer motioned him away.

He found the bathroom easily and checked to make sure there was so one inside. He sighed with relief. He picked a urinal and unzipped his pants. 

He had just started to take a piss when the door opened. He froze and looked to the door. Ryan walked in and Brendon’s fly was up before the door even had time to close.

He tried his best to ignore Ryan as he washed his hands, but Ryan wasn’t even going to the bathroom, he was just leaning against the wall staring at Brendon intently.

Brendon wiped his hands on his pants -they were dress pants, he’d made a big mistake. He intended to leave right away, but he could still feel Ryan’s eyes on him.

“Okay, so what the fuck Ross?” he said sharply.

“What?” he asked smugly.

“Fuck yo-” Brendon cut himself off and took a breath. “You know what you fucking did to me. You humiliated me during a game in front of the whole varsity team. Fuck you.”

“Are you sure that had anything to do with me? Maybe you just can’t play hockey,” Ryan replied.

“Fuck you, Ross,” Brendon said. “You’re a real nasty piece of shit. You think you’re such hot shit, but you hate all of us and don’t think we don’t know. Nobody wants to be around an asshole.”

“You don’t know anything about me. People do like me,” Ryan said coldly. “At least I can actually play hockey.” 

“I can play hockey. I’m a fucking good hockey player,” Brendon shot back angrily. 

“Oh, are you? Then you call that last game good hockey?” Ryan leered.

“What the fuck is your problem Ross?” Brendon asked.

“Funny how you made the varsity team when you when you don’t even contribute to the team,” Ryan continued.

“Fuck you,” Brendon hissed.

“You started it,” Ryan replied.

“I’m defending your fucking friends  _ to you  _ because apparently you don’t give a shit about them,” Brendon said.

“You know what your problem is? You think you’re better than the rest of us. Just because your dad was NHL doesn’t mean you’ll ever get there,” Ryan commented. 

Instinctively Brendon lunged forward and pinned Ryan to the wall, his forearm pressed against Ryan’s neck.

“If you ever,  _ ever _ say anything about my father again in my presence I’ll skin you alive,” Brendon threatened. “Got it, Ross?”

“Crystal,” Ryan spat.

Brendon shoved himself off of Ryan and stepped back. He stared coldly at Ryan, as if daring him to him to say anything. Ryan straightened himself up and stared back.

The air was heavy with tension as they waited for each other to make the first move.

Finally, “Can’t stand to hear your dad’s name insulted? Guess you owe him something for paying your way onto the team.”

Brendon didn’t attack him, just stared at Ryan. His hands were shaking and his breath was erratic. He wasn’t good at anything, not hockey, not making friends, not school nothing. He wasn’t anyone, wasn’t anything. And he never would be. Without his father’s name ironed onto his back would he have made it this far? Ryan didn’t think so. Ryan didn’t think anything of him.

Well, that may have been so but Brendon had one weapon left in his arsenal.

“You know what? Maybe I’m a lousy hockey player. Maybe I’m riding my father’s fame,” Brendon said quietly. “But at least I don’t write shitty poetry pinning for girls and boys you don’t have the time of day for otherwise, you bastard. At least I actually give a shit about people.”

“What?” Ryan stared at him in confusion, but then realization dawned on him. “You read my fucking journal? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“ ‘I will start a revolution in his eyes” how can you write shit like that when you ignore Tom pleading for you to take him back? How can you write all that shit you did about Keltie when you played her for so long? You just destroy people and then try to play the fucking victim,” Brendon seethed, his words cruel and pounding in his ears. “You don’t even take care of your friends.”

“YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME,” Ryan screamed, and Brendon had never shut up so fast in his life. “You don’t know anything about my friends, my life, anything I’ve been through! You read through my personal shit -without my permission- and then you accuse me of stuff you know nothing about! Vas-t'en chez l'yable. Tsé pourquoi t’as pas des amis? C’est ça! Personne t’aime. Tu tiens à personne.”

“Shut up,” Brendon stammered. “It was just a bunch of stupid poetry.”

“No, fuck you, Brendon Urie. Fuck you. You don’t get to come in here and accuse me of any of this and then act like you did nothing wrong. You violated my personal privacy. You insulted my life, my emotions, my fucking everything. You- you bastard,” Ryan said angrily. “I never want to see you, let alone speak to you ever again. If you ever, ever try to fuck with me again I will ruin you. You understand? Goodbye NHL dreams. Now get out.”

Brendon turned and fled from the bathroom but he could already feel his lungs seizing. As he walked through the restaurant, he bumped into Mr. Beckett who was heading in the direction of the bathroom.

“Brendon?” he said, confused, but Brendon couldn’t stop moving he just dashed out of the restaurant. 

He didn’t want to cause a scene, no he couldn’t cause one. Once he was safely out of sight of the door he collapsed onto the curb. He was choking out sobs as he struggled to breathe properly. He’d fucked up. He’d really fucked up this time. His big fucking mouth, his stupid fucking father and he stupid fucking pride. He’d finally hit the point of no return.

“Brendon!” Mr. Beckett called and ran over to him. He kneeled down on the curb next to Brendon. “Are you okay?”

Brendon nodded slowly but then, looking at Mr. Beckett’s face he shook his head.

“Shit, okay look at me,” Mr. Beckett said, briefly panicking and then regaining composure. “Is there anything you want to tell me? Is there anything I can do?”

Brendon shrugged and stopped himself from sobbing again.

“Do you want to take a walk maybe? Can I get you some water?” Mr. Beckett asked.

“Did anyone see me running out of the restaurant?” Brendon asked weakly.

“No, no one saw. Just me,” Mr. Beckett said. 

“Okay. I just want to wait here for a little while,” Brendon whispered.

“Sure, no problem,” Mr. Beckett said. “I’m gonna just sit here and wait with you, alright?”

Brendon nodded in acknowledgment and Mr. Beckett sat down next to him. They waited for a couple of minutes, just until Brendon was sure that nobody would be able to tell he had been crying. Then they walked back in together.

“Hey man, where’d you go?” Jon asked as Brendon reclaimed his spot.

“Oh, you know me,” Brendon said. “I went out to take a smoke.”

He glanced over to where Ryan was back sitting with his friends and his stomach clenched horribly.

The team ate their dinner. Jon and Spencer talked for the most part, while Brendon sat quietly, picking at his food. Mr. Beckett kept sending him worried glances but Brendon ignored him. 

When the team returned to the hotel, Ryan and Brendon went up to the room they shared. They didn’t say anything to each other and Brendon walked around Ryan carefully. He let Ryan take the bathroom first, let him chose and TV station and the bed he wanted to sleep in. Brendon didn’t say anything to him at all and gave him a wide berth of as he moved around their room.

Ryan wouldn’t even look at him.


	15. Quiet Contemplations and Careful Advice, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this feels like the end of an era... and to mark it we're going on an indefinite hiatus. one of our coauthors is recovering from a serious illness, and until they make a full recovery, we won't be publishing any new chapters. we hope that we're leaving you on a good note, and we'll try to get publication going again in november. until then you can just reread it  
> this chapter's song is [Ahead by Century](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QE2joQsWXJg) by the tragically hip. the hip are like the iconographic canadian band and also this song is on the hockey ryden playlist so that's fun. we have some more fun links in the end notes

Brendon had slept terribly despite having a bed to himself, and as he awoke exhaustion clung to his chest and neck like weights pulling him down. Ryan was already awake, sitting up in his bed, fiddling with his phone. He was shirtless and his hair was still long enough to hang in his face despite the haircut.

Brendon blinked sleep out of his eyes and tried not to stare.

The tension from the day before hadn’t gone away, and the air in their room seem to crackle with it. Brendon purposely let himself roll out of bed and landed on the floor with a thump. He hadn’t done it for Ryan, merely out of laziness, but he had hoped that Ryan might chirp him or acknowledge him in some way. But Ryan just sniffed discontentedly and Brendon dragged himself over to his suitcase, the situation very clear. Ryan wasn’t gonna let this go. 

Brendon grabbed his shirt and dress pants and stood up to go change in the bathroom, however Ryan had gotten up himself and was heading for the bathroom as well. Brendon stopped dead in his tracks and Ryan stared at him, his expression blank and cold. He let Ryan walk past him and claim the washroom and then sighed deeply as the door slammed shut. 

When he and Ryan bickered, Brendon knew where he stood with him. Sure, they didn’t get along but it was fine. Now it seemed like Brendon had breached some invisible barrier he’d never noticed before and sent their whole relationship hurtling down a crevice full of molten lava. They were burning as they fell.

Brendon ate breakfast with Jon and Spencer again. Ryan didn’t even bother waiting around the dining area and just brought his food back up to the room. Brendon forlornly watched him go.

He sat with Jon and Spencer again on the bus despite his threats. Jon filled Brendon and Spencer in on the details of the team but Brendon barely listened and tried to focus on preparing for the game. 

He mostly stared miserably out the window instead.

They started the game out strong, and had a 2-0 lead by the end of the first half. Ryan had scored one of the goals and the second line had scored the other. Brendon was avoiding Ryan like the plague, deliberately keeping himself out of Ryan’s vision.

Everything started to fall apart in the second half. The other team managed to score two more points to tie up the game. Both goals were scored when Brendon and Ryan were on. They refused to pass and their complicated dance around each other made being on the ice at the same time practically impossible.

Whenever they were off Brendon tried to get himself switched to another line but Mr. Saporta outright refused him and then spent the rest of the time criticizing their substandard teamwork.

In the beginning of the third Brendon got a pass from the defense and managed to get another goal, but that goal was quickly lost when Ryan let himself get checked rather than pass to Brendon and Oakes on his left side. They lost another point when Ryan and Brendon went for the same puck and both managed to lose it.

They were getting desperate. It was the championship game of the tournament and they were just losing by a single point. So the coaches made a tough decision and pulled Spencer. As Brendon watched him skate off, he felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach and wondered if Ryan did too.

Runion was added to their line. There was only a minute left of play and this was their last chance to tie up the game. If only they could get their act together and play like an actual team.

Ryan won the faceoff and passed the puck back to Keyes. All of the forwards made themselves open to a pass. Keyes passed up to Greenwald who tried to send the puck to Ryan but got checked. The puck went veering out toward the blue line. Brendon made a dash for the puck but he was too late and it passed out of the end. Oakes got the puck and held it while their team retreated to avoid an offside.

But time was running out and they weren’t any closer to scoring a goal, even with their extra player.

Oakes brought the puck up and passed to Brendon who was ahead of him. Brendon shot up, missed, and watched as Ryan caught the rebound. Everyone held their breath as Ryan took the shot. 

The goalie stopped the puck and the whistle was blown. 

The puck was dropped again and Ryan missed the faceoff. Brendon almost tripped out of shock and Ryan seemed so surprised that he hadn’t even reacted to the other team’s movement yet.

Greenwald tried to get the puck away from the defender but he passed it and Brendon rushed to intercept it. He missed and watched as the other team brought the puck over the center line and scored on an open net. There was still fifteen seconds left of the game.

Mr. Saporta subbed out their whole line and put the goalie back in. Brendon’s head hung in shame as he waited for the buzzer to sound from the bench. He glanced over at Ryan who seemed equally dejected. Everything was Brendon’s fault. If only he’d tried harder with Ryan. If only he’d been nicer, if only he’d tried to get along with his teammates, then maybe they wouldn’t have lost.

The team shuffled off the ice in defeat. They were all upset about the loss. They had started out so strong but as they fought amongst themselves their teamwork had disintegrated. And that had led to their defeat.

Mr. Saporta entered the changeroom once the whole team had gone in.

“I have nothing to say to you that you don’t already know,” he said heavily. Mr. Beckett coughed and stared at him in disbelief.

“Okay, no. I take that back. I have one thing to say to you,” he amended. “If you boys don’t get your shit together there won’t be a next time. I don’t know what your issue is with each other or why you don’t trust your teammates, but I swear to god if you ever play like you just did in that game we won’t be going to any tournaments next year. Is that clear?”

The team nodded sullenly and returned to taking off their equipment in near silence. Brendon watched Ryan take off jersey, saw his expression of guilt and anger and knew he had to do something.

The ride back to the hotel from the arena was equally quiet.

Before getting off the bus the coaches told everyone they only had twenty minutes in the hotel before they had to meet back in the lobby. They still had the rest of the day to spend out in Montreal.

Brendon grabbed his bag and then hesitated once he got into the lobby. Going upstairs to his room meant being around Ryan.

Mr. Saporta and Mr. Beckett walked into the lobby behind him and Brendon instantly came up with a great idea.

“Mr. Beckett!” he called. His teachers looked up at him, while he dragged his bag closer to them.

“Yes Brendon?” Mr. Beckett asked.

“Can I talk to you? I need some advice,” Brendon said quickly. Beckett seemed the more understanding of the two teachers.

Mr. Saporta grinned widely,“Oh man, this sounds like boy trouble, I am so good with boy trouble.”

Mr. Beckett elbowed him, “Be quiet, you’re gonna scare him off.”

“Um, Mr. Saporta can help if he wants,” Brendon said.

“Sweet. Okay, tell me everything.”

“Right, so there’s this guy...” Brendon trailed off. God, this sounded so gay. Might as well try to make it funny. “Let’s call him Ryan, you know, like hypothetically.”

Mr. Saporta chuckled, “Go on.”

“So me and this “Ryan” guy,” he put it in air quotes. “Don’t get along very well, but I’ve been trying to, like, fix it. But I got angry and said something to him that I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

"Wait, have you not tried apologizing yet?" Mr. Beckett asked him in disbelief.

"Well, not really..."

"Oh my god, men are hopeless," Mr. Beckett said and shook his head.

“Be quiet Bilvy, he’s suffering. He’s lost and needs advice,” Mr. Saporta snapped.

“Well, that’s my advice,” Mr. Beckett countered. “Go and apologize to Ryan. And a sincere apology. Admit to what you did wrong, express your apologies for it and then make sure he knows you want to change. And that you won’t do it again.”

“Pfft, that’s not gonna work,” Mr. Saporta said. “If he really messed up that badly then he’s going to have to do more than just apologize. You need to make it a grand gesture. Like follow Bill’s advice but do it more. Do it bigger. Give him a little piece of yourself, you know? Make him really understand.”

“Okay...” Brendon said uncertainly. 

“What can you do for him that will make you vulnerable?” Mr. Saporta asked. “That’s what he’ll be looking for. Whatever you do has got to leave you unprotected. If he doesn’t understand after that he’s not worth your time.”

“I’m actually impressed, I thought you were gonna tell him to buy Ryan flowers,” Mr. Beckett commented.

“Babe, have I ever bought you flowers when you were mad? Isn’t that only something heterosexuals do?” Mr. Saporta asked, his arm creeping around Mr. Beckett’s back and pulling him close.

Brendon giggled.

“A better question: Have you ever bought me flowers?” Mr. Beckett smiled and swatted Mr. Saporta away when he tried to kiss his cheek. “Oh, stop it.”

Brendon grinned at them both, his heart lightening. 

“Thanks for your help,” he said. “I think I have an idea.”

“No problem,” Mr. Beckett said as he leaned into Mr. Saporta’s arm around him.

“Keep us updated!” Mr. Saporta called.

As Brendon rode the elevator up to his floor he pulled out his phone to search for the nearest Long & McQuade.

Ryan was already changed when Brendon got up to the room and he gave Brendon a warning glance. It was enough to let Brendon know not to speak to him. He changed into more comfortable clothing in the bathroom and the two walked downstairs to meet their team.

Before they headed out into the city Mr. Saporta gave Brendon the thumbs up and winked.

They went to a different part of the city than the days before and Brendon kept his phone out to check the GPS. He had gotten lucky and they were getting closer to the music shop he’d scoped out.

“What are you looking so serious about?” Spencer asked, walking up beside him.

“I’m on a mission,” Brendon replied.

“Wait, who’s doing what?” Jon joined in.

“Brendon’s being a weirdo, as per usual,” Spencer said.   
“Oh, okay,” Jon grinned. “Can we help with anything?”

“I don’t think so? I just need to convince Ryan to talk to me,” Brendon said, frowning. “Which is gonna be impossible. He hates me.”

“You actually want to hang out with Ryan?” Spencer questioned.

“Yeah, I don’t mind him, you know,” Brendon mumbled.

“Well, what do you know!” Spencer exclaimed.

“I think Ryan doesn’t mind you either,” Jon said.

Brendon laughed, “Oh man, you have no clue.” But then he became serious again. “I don’t really know how to get him to come with me. Like if I ask, he’ll say no.”

“Say you’ll never speak to him again after he comes with you,” Spencer said. “He always complains about how you never shut up.”

“Hmm,” Brendon replied and watched Ryan’s back ahead of them.

Their teachers chose a new meeting space and instructed the team to meet back there in three hours. They’d be taking the bus out of the city to a sugar shack for dinner.

As soon as the groups started to disperse, Brendon made a dash for Ryan.

“Ross wait!” he called and skidded to a halt next to him.

Ryan turned around and glared at him.

“What do you want, Urie?” he hissed.

“Listen, can we talk? I promise it won’t take that long,” Brendon said.

“Why would I want to talk to you?” Ryan snapped. “Why would I ever want anything to do with you again?”

Brendon cringed. He deserved that.

“Please, just this once,” Brendon said. “I need to show you something. If you don’t like it or whatever you can leave and I promise I will never speak to you ever again. Please. You owe me for the Subway.”

Ryan’s face softened as he considered Brendon’s offer. Then he nodded.

“Okay fine. But you’ll regret it if you do anything shitty,” he said. “Hey Alex, I’ll catch up with you later!”

Greenwald waved and continued walking away with his group.

Brendon felt a rush of relief. Step one complete. Step two: don’t get lost.

Brendon led Ryan through the streets of Montreal, checking his phone constantly as he went. They were in the French part of Montreal, which, unlike Ville-Marie, didn’t have any English signs.

Finally he found the Long & McQuade and grinned. Step two complete.

Ryan frowned, “Is this it? Can I leave now?”

“I haven’t shown you anything yet,” Brendon countered.

“Fine.”

They walked into the store and Brendon walked straight to the counter.

“Do you have any pianos?” he asked. Wait shit, he probably needed to ask in French.

Luckily the cashier seemed to understand him and he gestured to the back corner of the store. Brendon walked toward it and motioned for Ryan to follow him. Ryan rolled his eyes but did as he was told.

“What’s the point of all of this, Urie?” he complained. “Why are you wasting my time?”

“I’m making a grand gesture,” Brendon muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Brendon sat down at an upright that he deemed as nice. Now for step three. The hardest part. Perform a grand gesture. Make yourself vulnerable.

His stomach was doing flips and his hands were shaking. He couldn’t fuck this up. Brendon brought his fingers down on the keys and with a deep breath he began to play.

He started off playing softly, humming as he went. But as he got to the chorus, he added more depth to the song, more notes. He didn’t allow himself to look at Ross, just focused on his playing. He hoped the other boy hadn’t left him at the piano by himself, but he couldn’t break his concentration. 

He made it to the bridge, the fastest, most emotional part of the piece. The part he’d written after his father had yelled at him when he’d gotten home the night after he’d let Ryan stay over. He might have imagined it, but he thought he heard a gasp. His father’s voice he played low and dominating, while his own voice he played with a careful touch. But as he played he allowed his own voice to become clearer in the music, until it overpowered the originally dominating left hand.

If it was vulnerable Ryan wanted, then that was what he was going to get.

He replayed the chorus part of the song, and smiled as he did so. He’d only made a few mistakes, not that Ryan probably noticed.

When he played the last note he turned to look at Ryan who was staring at him in confusion.

“I wrote that,” Brendon said softly. “It’s about my dad. I’ve never played it for anyone before.”

Ryan nodded slowly.

“That’s like, my payment for what I did. I’m sorry about what I said last night. And about what I’ve said to you over the last couple of years. I clearly upset you and hurt you. It was messed up of me to say. I thought I wanted to get back at you and to hurt you like you’d hurt me, but I didn’t. Like, not really,” Brendon said, as sincerely as he could. “I shouldn’t have read your journal and and disrespected your privacy. I don’t really think your poems are shitty. I think they’re nice and genuine. And I shouldn’t have criticized your private thoughts and feelings, especially because you didn’t want other people to see them in the first place.”

He took a deep breath before continuing, “I was wrong, and I’m sorry, but that’s not all. I want to stop fighting with you. I want us to be okay like we used to be when we were little. Do you remember? We used to be best friends. I don’t want to keep hurting you anymore, Ryan.”

Ryan blinked, but he looked puzzled rather than angry. “You’ve said a lot of shitty stuff to me over the years, you know that right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I can’t forgive you just like that,” Ryan said. “This stuff takes time.”

“I’m willing to work at it if you are,” Brendon told him. “Hell, I’m willing to work at it even if you’re not.”

Ryan walked over to the piano bench and sat down next to Brendon. The two gazed at each other in silence.

“I didn’t know you could play piano,” Ryan finally said.

“Yeah? You probably don’t know a lot of things about me,” Brendon replied. “I’ve been playing piano since I was five. My dad made me quit lessons when I started high school because he told me it was just a distraction from my hockey. Not worth my time.”

“Oh.”

Brendon shrugged, “I didn’t stop playing. Now I just have to write my own songs.”

“You’re really good,” Ryan whispered.

Brendon smiled, “I’m glad you think I’m good at something. I can teach you a bit if you want.”

“Hmm, maybe another time,” Ryan said.

“Yeah of course,” Brendon agreed.

Ryan looked down at his hands, and let the pause hang. Then he said, “I’m sorry too. I’ve said some shitty stuff to you and done some shitty stuff to you, too. I don’t know why I thought any of that was justified. I just thought I was always in the right because you always seemed so much worse than me. But maybe I was just making assumptions.”

“I forgive you,” Brendon said immediately.

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, I mean. I’m a pretty forgiving person. I think that as long as you say you’re gonna be better and you follow through with it then I can forgive you,” Brendon said. “I’m great about giving second chances, you know.”

“Well in that case; I think I can forgive you too,” Ryan said slowly.

Brendon beamed. Ryan hesitantly smiled back at him.

“To new friends,” Brendon said and stuck out his hand to shake. Ryan’s long fingers gripped his hand tightly and they shook firmly.

“Great, now time to make up with Spencer,” Brendon exclaimed.

“Wait, what? No way!” Ryan protested.

“Look if I can get you to forgive me for years of hatred then I think you can get your best friend to forgive you for being a dick,” Brendon said.

“I wasn’t a dick,” Ryan said defensively and the anger was back.

“Wait, I’m sorry, I fucked up again didn’t I?” Brendon said in a panic.

Ryan relaxed, and his anger disappeared, “Sorry, I just don’t think that what you’re saying to me is ever meant to be nice. Or teasing. I just assume the worst.”

“We can both work on that,” Brendon said. Ryan nodded.

“But I really do think you should apologize to Spencer,” he said flatly.

“It’s his fault we got in a fight,” Ryan argued.

“So be the better man and apologize first,” Brendon countered. “Your best friend is the cost of your stubbornness.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah. Where is he? Let’s go find him.”

They were going to walk out of the store when Brendon saw the cashier looking at them strangely. He felt guilty for going into the store and just using their piano so he motioned for Ryan to follow him into the sheet music section.

“What now?” Ryan asked, his face open and curious.

“I need to buy something,” Brendon whispered.

Ryan laughed and Brendon’s heart swelled.

“You can pick some sheet music or guitar tabs or something if you want,” Brendon told him. “Do you have anything you want me to learn to play?”

“You serious?” Ryan asked and Brendon nodded.

Ryan began to pace the aisle, seeming to look for something in particular. When he found it he smiled wildly.

“Get this,” he said thrusting a book of guitar tabs into Brendon’s hand. It was a book of the best of the Tragically Hip.

“You a big fan?” Brendon asked.

“Are you kidding? I fucking love the Hip,” Ryan exclaimed. He leaned in and started to flip through the book over Brendon’s shoulder.

“My dad’s seen them live a couple of times,” Ryan continued. “Like, even before they were famous. I’ve been listening to the Hip my whole life, man.”

“Do you have a favourite song?” Brendon asked.

“Um, bad question dude,” Ryan told him sharply. “But for the record, Bobcaygeon is probably the best song ever written.”

“So what songs do you want me to learn?” Brendon asked.

“All of them!” Ryan grinned. Brendon had never seen him smile this much. Who knew art and music was the key to his soul. “Nah, just kidding. But you gotta learn Bobcaygeon and Little Bones.”

“You got it,” Brendon agreed.

“And you need to sing them too,” Ryan said.

“You’re pushing your luck,” Brendon told him.

“That’s the payment for my friendship,” Ryan said. “I usually demand a cash deposit up front but I’m letting you off easy.”

“Well, I hope you’re a good investment,” Brendon joked.

Brendon payed for the music book and then pulled out his phone to text Spencer.

“When did you get Spencer’s number?” Ryan asked.

“You know, when we worked on the English project together,” Brendon said. “You refused to share your number with me.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ryan said thoughtfully.

“Well, you have my number now,” Brendon told him.

“What, do you expect me to text you now or something?” Ryan teased.

Brendon smiled. He and Ryan were so easily rolling together. It was like a new friendship though, rather than an old one, when excitement and uncertainty still permeated the mood and everything was unfamiliar. It was more than Brendon could have hoped for. It felt so straightforward and natural. All of their fighting seemed so out of place in the warm atmosphere they had replaced it with.

They met Spencer and Jon outside a Tim’s. Spencer looked grumpy and Jon was smiling nervously.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing a friend,” Spencer sneered.

“Oh yeah, have you guys met before?” Brendon joked. “Ryan meet Spencer. Spencer, Ryan.”

“Oh, very funny,” Spencer scowled.

Ryan shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, before staring at Brendon helplessly. God, Ryan was a mess. He and Ryan had been on speaking terms for less than twenty minutes and Brendon was already wondering how Ryan had managed without him.

‘’Actually, Ryan’s here to apologize,” Brendon told them. “Right, Ryan?”

“Yeah, um,” Ryan cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about being a total dick this morning.”

“Ehem,” Brendon coughed. “What else?”

Ryan sighed. “I’m sorry I was jealous of you not spending as much time with me and making friends and shit. I’m sorry for being all passive-aggressive to you and that like, I didn’t try talking to you about it before. I was just being immature.”

Spencer’s lip twitched but he didn’t say anything.

“Okay and now...?” Brendon prompted.

Ryan cringed, “And now I’ll try to communicate my feelings and insecurities instead of being a little bitch about it.”

“Wow,” Spencer said. “If the circumstances were any different I’d tell you to go fuck yourself but I think I just witnessed a miracle.”

“So I’m forgiven?” Ryan asked hopefully.

“Yes, but don’t think I’m finished with you yet,” Spencer warned. “We will talk about this later.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ryan agreed.

“So are you guys gonna hug it out now?” Jon asked.

“Damn right we are,” Spencer said. “Get over here, shithead.”   
Ryan walked closer to him and Spencer threw his arms around Ryan, pulling him into a tight hug. Then, when they broke apart Spencer slung his arm around Ryan’s neck and pulled him down into a headlock.

“Spenceeeeeer,” Ryan whined.

“Payback bitch,” Spencer said. “If you ever think for a minute that I’m not your best friend and that I’m gonna leave you for someone else then I’m gonna beat your ass.”

“I got it,” Ryan mumbled.

“Good,” Spencer said, and he gave Ryan’s hair a ruffle before letting him about again.

“Prick,” Ryan laughed as straightened himself up.

“Oh, you love me,” Spencer said.

Brendon grinned. He had been responsible for their reunion and it made him feel fluttery inside. 

“So do you want to walk around with us?” Jon asked.

Ryan and Brendon agreed right away and they spent the rest of their allocated free time wandering around Montreal together. Brendon felt confident enough to ask Ryan some questions about Montreal and Quebec, and after some initial apprehension Ryan answered most of them, even giving Brendon some extra information he hadn’t asked for. Seeing Ryan walk around Montreal a few days before and actually hearing his perspective out loud were so interesting and Brendon just kept the questions going, sure that Ryan would eventually run out of things to tell him but he never did.

They messed up a few times. Brendon would say something and Ryan would take it the wrong way or Ryan would make a cruel jab at Brendon and have to apologize. It was a friendship initially built on caution and mistrust, but as the day progressed and they became accustomed to each other’s incongruences, the corrections and apologies lessened. The conversations became more fluid with less awkward pauses and obvious insecurities. Brendon considered it a real victory when he made Ryan actually smile at one of his jokes, instead of making him angry like he usually did.

Jon and Spencer were great at picking up the slack when they thought that Brendon and Ryan were on the brink of falling apart again. They would change the subject quickly or mediate so that nothing got out of hand. Brendon felt that he and Ryan could have sorted everything out, even without them, but Jon and Spencer did make it faster.

They made it back to the meeting place on time, but not before Ryan bought a pair of Montreal Canadiens plugs and Brendon bought a giant ugly lumberjack hat. Jon and Spencer had both picked up touristy French t-shirts that Ryan had laughed at. And the four of them had gotten matching Fleur-de-Lis pleather bracelets.

When Mr. Saporta saw them approach he gave them a thumbs up and Brendon smiled back tentatively.

From the meeting spot they rode the bus out of Montreal to an authentic French Canadian sugar shack that was also a restaurant. Before eating they were given a tour of the Refining Room with a guide explaining the process. It was November so there was no maple syrup being made while they were there, but they still got to look at all of the equipment. Brendon managed to keep Ryan’s attention the entire tour, asking him questions about anything that came to mind - anything that would improve his standing with him. Luckily, Ryan was less closed-off and talked freely about everything from maple syrup candies and tire d'érable to the current NHL season and French swearing.

They were finally brought to a dining area to wait for their food. It was covered in wood planks from ceiling to the floor and the tables were on a raised platform around the sides of the room, while the middle was an open dance floor. The tables were covered in white tablecloths and fake candle centerpieces, and Brendon and his friends chose one close to the musicians, who were tuning their instruments to prepare for the evening.

Once all the hockey players had sat down a woman dressed in traditional French Canadian clothing walked onto the dance floor and introduced the band. She brought out a bunch of servers with her who were similarly dressed. She spoke English without a trace of a French accent, and she invited all the guests down onto the dance floor. They got up and walked down cautiously from their tables.

“Dude are you coming?” Brendon asked as he stood up.

Ryan shook his head, “You have no idea what comes after this.”

“And you do?” Brendon asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, man,” Ryan said solemnly. “She’s gonna make you dance.”

Brendon grinned, “Oh, what a nightmare. Come on, get up.”

He tugged at Ryan’s sleeve and Ryan got up and followed him to the dance floor, much to Brendon’s surprise.

“Show me how to dance like a French Canadian,” Brendon said and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh please, like I would actually know how to do any of this,” Ryan argued.

“You’re still probably better than me,” Brendon said.

“Lies. Although I have seen this one a couple of times at family things,” Ryan told him, gesturing towards where the lady was demonstrating a simple dance with a blushing Andy Soukal. “I think it’s called La Bastringue*.”

“See? Better than me already,” Brendon told him.

“Okay, but if we were learning to square dance you’d be totally owning at that,” Ryan said.

“Oh man, you’re so right. You owe me a square dancing date,” Brendon said, and then immediately realized what he’d said and ducked away in embarrassment. They’d been friends for a couple of hours, asking Ryan out at that point would be a mistake.

Luckily Ryan didn’t seem to notice or mind and the evening continued as normal. Most of the folk dances were for partners so the rest of the team members danced with pretty servers but Brendon got to dance with all of his new friends, switching up between Jon, Spencer and Ryan. Dancing with all of them was fun, and Brendon couldn’t stop grinning the whole time, but dancing with Ryan felt extra special. As they spun and swung and clapped around the dance floor, looking more ridiculous as they went, their faces were smiling and bright.

They ate a traditional French Canadian dinner of potato soup and tourtière. When the servers brought the food out, Ryan made sure to double check with them all in French to see what Brendon could and couldn’t eat. He even gave Brendon his bread because he wasn’t sure that Brendon had gotten enough to eat.

After they were finished, the musicians taught them how to play the spoons. Brendon tried to get the one girl to let him try out her bass, and then tried against with the fiddler but to no avail. He fucking shredded with the spoons despite his other musical setbacks. Only Spencer could keep a beat better than him.

As they were leaving the sugar shack Ryan stopped by the gift shop and bought a huge bag of the tiny maple leaf shaped maple syrup candies and then ordered Brendon to buy the maple fudge so they could split it back in the hotel room.

Brendon sat with Spencer on the ride back into the city, although Jon and Ryan would both weigh in on their conversation when they deemed it appropriate.

Back in the hotel room, all of the tension that they had created was gone and the two boys spent the rest of their evening commenting on bad television, cracking jokes and chowing down on their spoils. They finished off the fudge and ate half of Ryan’s bag of candies before Mr. Beckett came around to knock on their door and tell them to go to bed. They both agreed to get ready for bed but to not sleep.

Despite the newfound friendliness between the pair, Brendon still changed in the bathroom.

When he came out again, he and Ryan lay on the same bed and just tried to get each other caught up on everything the other had missed in the nine years they hadn’t been friends. Brendon didn’t ask about Tom and Ryan never mentioned Brendon’s father, but nine years is still a lot of time and both had plenty of stories, although by around 1AM Brendon realized he had been doing most of the talking.

Since coming back to the room they hadn’t fought once and as time went on Ryan smiled more and tensed up less. They’d finally picked up their friendship where they’d left it off all those years ago.

They eventually went to their respective beds although they kept talking until Brendon’s answers were barely discernible and he had trouble keeping his eyes open. That’s when Ryan took control of the conversation and started telling Brendon about some of his own stupid hockey stories.

Brendon laughed in all the right places but his mind was starting to get so foggy that he was missing parts of what Ryan had said. Finally they were lulled into silence

Just as Brendon’s heavy eyes started to close he felt a weight on the edge of his bed. Ryan spoke up.

“Brendon. Hey. Brendon, don’t go to sleep.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Brendon groaned. “It’s 3 AM you asshole, let me sleep.”

“I’m not tired though,” Ryan whined. “Talk to me.”

“Hmph.”

“Hey!” Ryan leaned towards him. He shook Brendon’s shoulder. “Tell me something about yourself you’ve never told anyone.”

Brendon’s eyes snapped open.  _ I want to have sex with you.  _ No, but he couldn’t tell Ryan that. It was only about ten hours into their newly found friendship. Jeopardizing it already over something like that wasn’t worth it.

“God, what next? Truth or dare?” Brendon asked instead.

Ryan shrugged, “I’m not into the whole circle jerking, so I gotta do something else to create intimate bonds with my male friends.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Look, I’ll go first okay?” Ryan said. “Okay so you know how I don’t really have a job right? Ever wondered how I got the money to pay for all that shit for my ex?”

Brendon blinked wearily, “I dunno, bum money from your parents?”

“I’m not you, dipshit,” Ryan said. “Well, in order to support myself, my girlfriend and my budding hockey career I would submit poetry to every single contest I could find that had prize money. Barely anyone enters, and also I’m great at poetry. It’s a flawless plan.”

“And you’ve never told anyone that? What the fuck,” Brendon interjected.

“Well yeah, I can’t having it ruining my image,” Ryan grinned. “So you better not tell anyone, I have you in the highest confidence.”

“I’m flattered,” Brendon replied drily.

Ryan stared at Brendon expectantly. When Brendon didn’t immediately reply Ryan prodded him with his foot, “Come on, your turn.”

Brendon swallowed and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling, away from Ryan’s insistent gaze. He thought about Ryan, about their fights, about how that made him feel. He thought about Ryan humiliating him in front of their French class and seeing Ryan and Tom making out in the bathroom at Halloween.

“I miss the stars sometimes,” he said softly. “When it’s night sometimes I’ll look at the sky and you can never see any stars from the light pollution. It wasn’t so bad out west, you could still see some stars. The last time I was up there, my cousins all got drunk and drove us out into the middle of the badlands in their pickup. I’ve never seen so many stars in my life. If you just lie on your back and stare at the sky it looks like they’re falling towards you.”

He glanced over at Ryan but quickly looked away. He could feel the other boy gaping at him. His skin was crawling, a nervous energy bubbling out of him. He wanted Ryan to stop staring at him so intently, to stop paying such close attention to all of his words and actions. He rolled over so that his back was to Ryan and tried to make his breathing as quiet as possible. He wanted to disappear.

Eventually Ryan returned to his own bed.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, and that was it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *La Bastringue is actually a french canadian dance but ryan knows absolutely nothing and i can assure you that's not the dance they were being taught and they learned a variation of le swing  
> on a similar note, a brief intro to french canadian folk dancing:  
> [this is kind of what a french canadian dance event looks like](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2C2GP9hlL1U) (also you can hear the ugly quebecois french accent)  
> Some important folk dances:  
> [La Bastringue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0w6WJxNgSmY)  
> [La Quadrille](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBOpX4gTNzs)  
> [La Gigue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xcgv9kVy29g) (which they totally stole form the irish)  
> [Le Swing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6rxxelwbxiw) (there are actually like three kinds of quebecois swings, and i think this is a cortillion but don't quote me on this)  
> french folk dances are super fun and if you ever get a chance to go to one (or a sugar shack) i seriously recommend it!


End file.
